Ivy: A Tale of Temptation
by wickedmetalviking1990
Summary: A woman in Elizabethan England, cursed from birth, begins a dark journey to find her destiny or die trying. Setting is all of the games in which she appears. Rated M for violence, some language and "other" things. Written from the perspective of the character writing their memoirs.
1. First Memories

**(AN: Well, I've been having second thoughts about all my work, so I thought I'd do something with which, so far, I've had marked success. Not the Bible, but Soul Calibur! So here we are again, stage of history and everything. Also, in preparation for another story I'm working on, I will be delivering this story from the perspective of the main character, since we know she makes it all the way into the 17th century [or at least any who have played _SCV_ will know that])**

**(Like with my other _Soul Calibur_ stories, it will be heavily influenced by the historic setting and I'm sure it will be fun. If you love Isabella Valentine, you will love this story.)  
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**First Memories**

_January 19th, 1564_

This was my earliest memory. It was a cold winter's day in January. I remembered raised voices: Father was angry with one of the servants. For some reason, I wanted to see what was the matter. I ran down the hall of our beloved home - though some would call it a mansion, it was home to a child like myself at the time - to where I could hear the voices loudest. I found Father at last in the kitchens, where he was angrily berating a servant. In his hand was a leather switch, with which he beat the servant. He became aware of my presence and halted. The switch was put away and he said some choice words to the servant.

If you think my Father, Edward Valentine, Earl of Lincoln, was a cruel man, you are gravely mistaken. He did not punish me for my curiosity, for he loved me greatly. Even now, as I think back on him, I feel that he knew the truth and yet loved me regardless. In his eyes I was his daughter, his prized possession, and he never denied me anything. When he found me looking upon his berating of a servant, he did not shout or threaten me, though it would have been within his power to do so. Instead, having done his duty, he took me by the hand and led me into a parlor.

"My dear," I remembered him say. It was so strange, seeing those blue eyes of his, which a moment ago had been so full of anger, now directed at me, filled with nothing but love. Or at least, that is what I see it as now, in my mind's eye. "My dear, do you think me cruel because what I did to Anne?" I was silent, fearful at that young age if he might do the same to me.

"One day you'll be old enough to realize this," he said. "But life is full of pain. That cannot be avoided. Sometimes, someone has to give pain if one is insolent. Besides, pain will make them stronger, more obedient servants. Do you understand?"

I was silent, but inside something profound happened. For the moment, my Father seemed satisfied with what had happetlned and left. However, from that moment on, I was changed. I knew that something had happened, but, being so young, I could not properly articulate precisely what had changed. Nevertheless, I do recall that my governesses and tutors always referred to me as cold-hearted. Ever after, I have been called such as well. But it is not my purpose to refute what has been said: let people say what they will, it shall not change me. I am what I am, God or whoever else is out there help me, for better or for worse.

I am Isabella Valentine, and this is my story.

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**(AN: I hope that was okay.)**

**(I had to bend the historical account quite a bit in this story, since there is no Earldom of London and most of the other earldoms are already taken during the period of this part of the story. Yes, Elizabethan noblemen could probably beat their servants if they do decided. Nevertheless, I need to establish Ivy's infatuation with pain early on, which is why I have this scene. No need for apology, just like Ivy.)  
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**(Also, I haven't got a pic up for this story. I really want to use one, either of Ivy or of Belle Chere, who has famously cosplayed as Ivy, but ALL of Ivy's pictures are "provocative" [ie: _SCIV_'s epic under-boobage], so I'm not sure. Maybe I'll find something eventually, but I hope I don't get shut down without warning when I finally _do_ find a good pic.)  
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**(How did you like the style of story-telling, from the character's perspective rather than from mine? Please review, I'll try to get new chapters up soon. I always have such fun with _Soul Calibur_ stories, and they've turned out so well so far, so I have high hopes.)  
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	2. That Which Must Not Be Spoken

**(AN: Just one chapter and already we've got some attention! I knew this was a good idea!)  
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**(Here we see a somewhat older Ivy [though still a child] making a decision which will affect her later on. You'll see)  
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**That Which Must Not Be Spoken**

I was born on December the 10th, in the year of our **LORD** 1559. My Father, Earl Edward Valentine, was one of the most wealthiest men in all of England. My mother, the Countess Elizabeth Valentine, was a noble-woman and, while she was not as doting on me as my Father, was the one I saw more frequently. For most of my childhood, I believed my mother hated me, though I could not understand why. Whereas if I was insolent or made a careless mistake before my Father, he would be angry but his wrath would be tempered with explanation and he would tell me why I was wrong. My mother, meanwhile, would not cease to ask her maids for a switch if I had done wrong before her presence.

As it was, I rarely saw my Father. He was always away on business, and I never was permitted to ask what that business entailed. He would come out every Christmas and take us to the Queen's palace at London for a ball. Those were lovely, and I once got to meet Her Majesty. She seemed so imposing, sitting atop her throne, face pale as snow, covered in this massive gown. She looked like one who had the weight of all her country on her shoulders. What struck me as most significant about her was that she was a woman. My tutors told me stories about kings and princes which had ruled this great country for years beyond count, but it was this one that seemed the most significant to me. It made me realize that a woman could indeed rule over a man.

Nevertheless, I saw very little of my Father and he had few friends who saw him outside of these parties. As it was, I spent my days among my tutors and governesses. I was taught all the things a young noble-lady was expected to learn, as well as some things my Father insisted, as I was the sole heir of my family's household. I was taught how to read and write English and Latin and German, as well as equestrianism and dancing and all of the social graces. With each lesson learned, with each new skill obtained, I felt more and more elated with how well I was doing and wanted to proudly display my skills before my Father.

It was in June of the year 1566, and I had finished one my lessons again. I was so happy that I wanted to hear what my Father had to say about my success and so, against the wishes of the servants, I ran through the house, calling his name. Of course, I knew better than to run, but I did so anyway, so great was my excitement. As I ran into his study and, finding him not, prepared to leave, I espied something rather odd at the back of the room. The book-case stood ajar from the wall. Out of curiosity, I crossed over to the room and examined it, and I found a winding staircase that circled downward behind the book-case.

Down the stairs I went, into a place I had never visited in all of my memory. It was cold and dark, and I could smell acrid stenches wafting up from whatever was boiling down there. Slowly I made my way down to the bottom of the stairs, where I saw a room dimly lit, filled with all manner of instruments and glass tubes filled with strange substances that I had never seen. Strange markings had been drawn on the walls, the ceiling and the floor, and a figure, clad in black, was mumbling and busying about, working hurriedly on God only knows what. I must have gasped or cried out, for my Father turned about and looked upon me with anger in his eyes.

But now that I think back on it, I feel that his look was not of anger, but of sadness, or even fear. I was coming upon a secret the likes of which I would never be prepared for, even now that I am much older and, God willing, wiser. He knew the monumental burden upon which his daughter had innocently happened and feared to expose me to it. Yet he knew that I was curious, and that my curiosity would not be slated with anything less than the full truth.

Nevertheless, I remembered the look he gave me as he took me by the hand and led me back up the stairs into his study. Once we were up there, he sat me down in one of his chairs and closed the door, making sure that no one was around. He then turned to me and began to speak.

"Isabella, my child," he said. "I know that you want to know what your Father was doing, but I cannot oblige you."

"Why not, Daddy?" I had asked.

He stammered with his words, fighting to find the right answer to give me. I see now that he was trying to answer in a way that would sate my curiosity while also keeping me safe. I know now that there was no such way that could ever have been achieved.

"I'm searching for something," he said at last, with a sigh of resignation. "Something very important. That's what I've been doing there and..."

"And what, Daddy?" I asked again.

"It's dangerous," he continued. "I..." He sighed. "I must ask you to forget what you have seen this day."

"No!" I protested. "I want to know, I want to help you!"

"But I can't ask you to do this, I-I can't _let_ you do this either!" he protested. "You don't know the sacrifice you would be making!"

"I love you, Daddy," I had said, filled with filial, naive feelings. "Helping you is worth any sacrifice."

"But this is the _worst_ sacrifice, Isabella!" he argued again. "To do this, to join yourself to my purpose, it would be at the cost of your soul! I...I cannot allow it!"

"But it's my soul," I had foolishly replied. "I can do with it as I please. What if I want to give it to help you?"

"I cannot let you do this!"

"I want to do this!"

My father denied me nothing in all of his life. Would to God that he had done so this day, for as a child, I knew not to what evil I was damning my soul.

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**(AN: Why do I read movie and book critiques? So I can see where people make mistakes and learn to be a better writer thereby. As such, I want our main character to have some kind of interest, especially with her father, in what he does [-virtual confections to whoever can guess what he's doing-], so that when a certain something happens, it will be more of a personal affair.)**

**(Don't worry, I won't do many more chapters of young Ivy. She'll start growing up and then the bad stuff starts happening. So far, I'm glad that this story has gotten so much attention just yet. One chapter with less than a thousand words and already reviews! Man, you must have some faith in this story. Thank you very VERY very much!)  
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	3. Health of the Earl

**(AN: I had sort of tongue-in-cheek references to how hard it was for Sophitia and Taki to be well-endowed in _Sophitia: a Tale of Love_, so don't worry, now that Ivy's hitting puberty, we'll get some of that as well)  
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**(Thank you once again for the reviews. I have a wealth of information to go on with her story, both from the canon proper and her appearances in my other stories. Hopefully the picture I chose is decent.)  
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**Health of the Earl**

And so it was that I surrendered my soul: a foolish girl with no idea of what she was doing, and I already damned myself. What my Father was doing was the worst kind of hypocrisy, even in the Church of England. While he called it alchemy, we both knew what it was indeed: it was sorcery. My Father had a second library inside this secret room of his, full of books about something I had never heard of in all of the stories and fables of my youth.

The Sword of Heroes.

Most of what he had were copies of legends, and from them I learned all that mortal men possibly knew about the Sword, which was surprisingly little, considering the apparent great history it had had in secret among the nations of Cathay and Europe. As a little girl, I had never asked him why he wanted the Sword. For me, it was enjoyable to learn of this Sword and the dark arts from my Father. A strange feeling came over me as I learned this knowledge, to which I was sworn never to reveal to anyone. I now knew that I had the power to become strong, so strong that I could destroy anyone who crossed me. I was slowly becoming powerful, and it felt good.

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Even as my skill in the dark arts began to grow, so did I began to blossom into maturity. I started getting taller, my voice was growing deeper and my dresses didn't fit me anymore. Of course, knowing how to sew, was able to let my dresses out every time I started growing. While I'm sure my Father would have spared no expense on buying me new dresses as I began to grow, money seemed to be tighter and tighter as the years went by.

Talking of tighter and of my adolescence, there was another reason my dresses didn't fit me anymore. My breasts began growing in when I reached twelve, and by the time I was sixteen, I could not wear a proper corset. They were meant to flatten the bosoms, yet mine were by then so large that I was always uncomfortably out of breath and prone to fainting. I hated fainting, so I never wore corsets. Of course, as a consequence, my breasts became quite cumbersome. Therefore, I began making in secret something which I could wear underneath my dress that would hold my massive breasts in place without choking me to death.

But there were more concerns on my mind than my breasts, which seemed to be growing larger every year. I was starting to come of age, and my parents wished me to start courting men. However, I was not interested in courting. My study with my Father and the dark rituals we underwent were more than enough to occupy my mind. The fact that I had such powers that many would consider me a witch meant that I had no interest in submitting myself to any man. But to say that these were all my concerns would be a lie as well.

It was in May of the year 1576 when I began to realize that more things were happening than I had first believed. I was in my boudoir, examining my reflection in a mirror. My figure was that of a very shapely young woman, but I began to notice that my hair was starting to grow paler and finer little by little. To this day, I know not fully why my hair faded from blond to white. Perhaps it was because of the dark rituals I had done before and after that point, or because of other things that happened within my mind, in the darkness beneath my living thought. Nevertheless, I began to notice that I was not the little girl I had become.

After I finished up here, I put away my mirror and joined my Father in his study. I now knew the way into the secret laboratory, and I made my way through the passage behind the book-case and down the winding stair, one hand holding my skirt up to quicken my pace as I walked. As I made my way down, I saw my Father leaning over a table, several books thrown about the floor and one of his elixir vials emptied in his hand.

"Father, you need some rest," I said, and marveled at how deep my voice was in my own ears. My mother's voice was stern and lighter, almost like a fairy it seemed to me. Mine seemed so much deeper and thicker.

"I can't rest, Isabella," he replied. "Every hour I sleep, every minute I rest, is one less hour I have left to live. It's here, I _know_ it is! There must be a clue to where it could be!"

"These books will still be here tomorrow," I replied.

"But I may not be!" he retorted, his voice so passionate, he sounded angry.

"What do you mean?" I asked. "Are you going somewhere?"

"Oh, you know me, darling," he replied. "You know I don't go anywhere."

"Have you been drinking again?" I asked.

"You're not my mother!" he returned.

"Father, you know those clarity potions are not good for you!" quoth I. To aid his research, he created potions that made his memory and understanding clear. However, these left him weak in the body and touched in the mind.

"I _must_ find the Sword!" my father roared, throwing a book at the pentagram etched in chalk on the wall.

"Why, Father?"

He turned to me as though I were a child and I had spoken out of turn once again. It was then that I saw his face, thin, drawn and more gaunt than I had known him. His skin also was pale and sickly, his hair and beard now turning gray. His hands shook violently and in blue his eyes I saw a fire that unnerved me to the bone.

"What did you say?" he asked, his voice full of disbelief.

"I've helped you all these years," I rationalized. "And never once have I asked you ought of why we seek the Sword of Heroes. Look at yourself! You're wearing yourself out, Father!" My voice was breaking as I spoke. "I've never seen you this weak before, it hurts me to see you like this!"

"Then go, go!" he shouted. "Go back to Elizabeth, she never supported my work! She doesn't understand, no one else does: the Sword, the Sword is more than just a weapon, it's the key! The key to what they've all talked about, from Zosimos to Paracelsus: the _alkahest_, the element that can turn base metal to gold, that can grant eternal _life_, is the Hero Sword! I have to find it, I have to...to go back to my work!"

He turned back and continued on with his work. He halted for a moment, looking at his emptied vial, then threw it against the wall, where it shattered with a loud crack.

"I need more ingredients," he said, speaking to no one in particular. "Particularly _muscaria_."

"But that's expensive!" I retorted.

"I need them now!" he roared, throwing another book against the wall.

I turned and left the room, for I was starting to feel uncomfortable. Something was wrong with Father, but I could not immediately see what it could possibly be. At the time, I would have advised him to take some rest to soothe his brains before going back to his work, but now I fear that a different kind of malady was upon his mind. Of course, then, I did as I was instructed, but I great regretted it the moment I saw him drink those vile potions. They made him weak and it broke my hear to see him so weak. But it was more than merely clarity potions that were affecting his mind: another kind of sickness had taken hold of him, an unhealthy obsession of mind, body and soul.

And it's object was the Hero Sword.

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**(AN: So yay, we're back in the story and oh no, bad things are happening to Isabella's father and she cares about him the most, so it affects her greatly. Of course, we know what he's in pursuit of, so we know what's up with him.)**

**(I also did some research on alchemy, which was they, Ivy and Earl Valentine, studied. As far as the context of the story, the ancient alchemists believed that the _alkahest_, the substance from which all the elements came from, which was the Philosopher's Stone [that was 'real', not an invention of JK Rowling's], was the Hero Sword. Obviously, we do know that it can grant almost limitless life, so accounts of long-lived blade-wielders would have been noticed by at least the scientific world [remember, alchemy was what passed for science back in the 16th century, though the other fields were slowly coming about])  
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**(Also, how do you think her hair turned white? Was it an intentional dyeing, or did the alchemical experiments she did throughout her life bleached her hair [like how Sith warriors get scarred through their use of the Dark Side in _Star Wars_]. No, don't take that as a sign that she's being an 'evil' character in this story. She's much more complicated than that, and we might just get to see that in this story.)  
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	4. Fall of the House of Valentine

**(AN: Pardon me as I climb atop of a soap-box here, but I heard some rather awful things about mind-altering drugs like hallucinogenic mushrooms and LSD. While obviously, it seems like a fun place to visit - and perhaps get some inspiration - it would not be fun to live there forever. I heard one person took LSD back in the 60s and then sees everything in two dimensions..._forever_. So yes, here is one of the first M-rated portions of the story. What I'm suggesting is that the Earl is taking "clarity potions", which have mind-altering substances, which are messing with his brain along with his infatuation with finding the Sword. Not a good combination by any means.)  
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**(Okay, I'm done preaching, back to the story.)  
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**Fall of the House of Valentine**

Four years had passed since I saw the effects our work had had on my Father. Every year my hair became finer and paler, my breasts grew bigger, and my family started to grow poorer. We were among the wealthiest families in England, but our wealth was slowly being eaten away. The day he gave me his 'grocery list', I burned it in the fireplace. Nevertheless, he found other ways of procuring items and his experiments continued. Day by day, he seemed to be growing weaker and weaker, until I could no longer be there in his study, helping him with these awful experiments that were taking him away from me little by little.

But it was not only Father and I who were affected by his experiments. My mother began to grow sullen and prone to outbursts of sorrow and anger whenever his name was mentioned. To forget about what he did, she drowned her sorrows in attending all of the social parties we had once attended as a family now alone. What else she did I knew not, for she kept those secrets safer than Father did. While I was still not fully trusting of her, I admired how she, a woman, could keep secrets better than a man. Nevertheless, she was growing distant and always away with some new friends of her and when she came back to our manor, she was still depressed and exhausted.

So it was that I matured into womanhood in a house covered by the dark shadows of our predicament. Our money was slowly decreasing and, ever and anon, a few servants would be sent to another manor or a piece of furniture would be missing. It hadn't dawned on me just how costly this experiment had been, but not only the ingredients for the potions, but the books and instruments were considerably expensive. And with my mother and her partying, there was no money left over for anything important.

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It all came to an end on Christmas Eve, in the year 1579. I was now twenty, practically an old woman - even with my hair now more white than blond. The manor house was almost completely empty, with only a few mementos of our family remaining. A portrait of the family was sitting in the main hall, as well as one of my mother and a suit of armor that had belonged to my grandfather. It was before this that I stood, examining the armor carefully. It always seemed so glamorous, the armor, but not merely because of the way the sun reflected off its surface. Armor meant power, it meant one could go into battle, against a dragon like St. George or another knight like Sir Lancelot du Lac, instead of sitting in the villain's cave, a damsel in distress, incapable of defending herself or even running away, by reason of cumbersome dresses.

Suddenly I heard a cry down the hall. It was the voice of Mary, one of our last servants. She was the oldest and stayed on because of her pure filial devotion to our family. I remember her saying that if they sold her, she would die outside of the Valentine manor, not knowing what to do in another family. Whether she meant this or not I cannot say, but her devotion was most welcome in these dark times. It was she who helped me procure leather and silk for my project. Needless to say, I trusted her and my family trusted her as well.

And now she was crying out! I had to see what it was. Picking up my skirts, I ran down the stairs to the lowest level, where I heard the scream. Down another hallway and through the door that led to my Father's study. I walked inside and felt my blood turn to ice within my veins and all my sinews loose strength. There was Mary, and in her arms was my Father. The hair of his beard and head had almost completely fallen out or turned white, his face was sunken in and his eyes seemed to be leering up out of his deathly mask. The eyes also twitched violently, and his hands were still shaking.

"What happened?" I asked.

"I went to bring him his supper," Mary said. "And wish him happiness on the birthday of Our **LORD**, and I found him in this state!"

I knelt down at my Father's side as he reached out his hand towards my face.

"Isabella?" he asked. "Isabella?"

"I'm here, Father," I replied, kissing his hand.

"You..." he sighed wearily. "Must...find it. The Sword!"

"Father, please, don't wear yourself out!" I begged of him, but he would have none of it.

"Find it for me!" he insisted, his whole thin, weak frame shaking with the vehemence of his voice. "You must...complete...my work!"

"Father..."

"Swear it! Promise...swear...promise..." His voice trailed off for a while, then rasped a hideous groan. A white substance gathered at the corner of his mouth and drooled down his body, but he did not even move to wipe it away. The shaking had stopped, and his eyes ceased to move. They were now stuck as they had been before, glazed over white with the color hidden beneath his lids. His whole body was now cold as the snow and paler. I do not know how long I sat there, cradling his body in my arms, weeping over him and calling out his name, before the truth finally dawned upon me.

My Father was dead.

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**(AN: So after a few minor hiccups with posting this chapter, it is finally out and we see Isabella's "father" [note how she uses a capital 'F' in referring to him, that will become significant later on in the story, just wait] succumb to his madness.)**

**(I try to make the origin stories not lag on for too long, so that we can get into the 'game' proper and start seeing familiar faces, but apparently, I could have gone on with Ivy's origin story and, so far, it seems you would be satisfied. Thank you once again for reviews, keep 'em coming!)**


	5. Will of the Countess

**(AN: NAMCO-Bandi, to whom the Soul Calibur series belongs, have very little grasp of the historical setting of the story. Aside from what I said in _Tira_, about Bavaria, they also called Ivy's Father a "count", even though that title is an earl in Britian. Also, they don't have earlesses, so she gets called a countess. Now that that's settled, on with the story.)**

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**Will of the Countess**

My Father died friendless and penniless, and what made our grief all the more poignant was that his death came upon Christmas Eve. We spent the day in mourning, my mother and I, and spoke no words to each other. I would often happen upon her, and we would exchange glances or look upon each other for long periods of uncomfortable silence, but neither had the will to say any words. In her eyes, I saw some kind of ugliness that disgusted me to such a degree that, to this day, it still haunts me. Her eyes were dead, almost as dead as my Father's. She seemed as though she were one of the dead, waiting for her turn to join them. She had nothing left to live for, and that was what stung my heart.

I watched over the following months as she grew more and more reclusive. She never left her room, was attended upon only by Mary, and never received any visitors. I was the _de facto_ ruler of our house, and so all decisions went through me. I soon learned that this responsibility was great, for we were nigh penniless. I also learned that some of our servants, those who were not as faithful as Mary, began stealing goods from the manor house. First it was raiding the larders of food, but that soon went on to the more valuable things such as jewelry and furniture.

I distinctly remember finding four of the servants trying to make off with a painting of my Father. I had never been more furious in my life at that moment. I gave each of them nine stripes with the switch and promptly discharged them and ordered them to leave the manor house. But after I had done so, I looked back on what I had done. It was waranted, they were stealing a treasured possession of my house, and one of the last mementos my mother and I had of my Father, in the time of his strength. I was a noble-woman and they were my servants, and I had perfect liberty to punish them accordingly. But there was something else that I felt, besides righteous indignation, while I was striking them.

Satisfaction. It felt good to hit something, to hit some_one_, to assert myself over them. So good it felt that I knew in my heart that it had to be a sin. Yet I didn't care, for in the moment it was the best I had felt since before I saw my Father becoming so weak and, eventually dying. I kept it in my heart, for, while I enjoyed my knowledge in alchemy and sorcery and this new-found satisfaction with causing pain, I was no fool. I knew that such things were hated in my world and my mother was not privy to what my Father and I had been doing. Therefore I have kept it a secret to all save for this account, for now I feel that all should be told, if any be left to read this account in the days ahead.

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Months became years and now I was the sole heir of the Valentine mansion and our scarce fortune. But tragedy struck again in the year 1584. My mother kept to herself exclusively and I never learned anything about her condition. It wasn't until one day when I walked past the door of her room and wondered just why she was keeping herself locked away. I was her daughter and deserved to know what was wrong with her. I knocked on the door, but there was silence. Perhaps she was sleeping. I came to the door and tried to open it. It was shut fast. Thinking fast, I held out my hand, uttered "_Patefio_" and willed the door to be open.

It gave to my command and I entered into my mother's bed-chamber. But it was a sight that was even more ghastly than how it had been for my Father. The air was stale and dead, the room stuffy and dark. The stench of decay was thick in the air, so much that my tongue tasted ever after of ash and rot. There was a single candle in the room which gave off little light: it was being held by Mary. I slowly made my way to the bed, where I saw my mother. She looked so weak and feeble, wasted away to almost nothing. Her beautiful auburn hair was now completely white, her face strecthed and thinned so much that it looked like a skull. Her eyes seemed smoky, covered in God only knows what kind of black bile, but the eyes were unseeing.

"God rest her soul, milady," Mary said, her voice sorrowful. "She's with the angels now."

I almost laughed. Her face showed no peace, no calm, no outward sign that she was going to the Gates of Heaven. The closer I got to her body, she stank of great filth. I covered my nose with a handkerchief, but made no reply. I was alone, and this disgusting room held nothing for me. I turned and prepared to walk, when Mary spoke up again.

"Her Ladyship wanted you to have this," she said. I turned and saw Mary holding up a letter sealed in wax. I took it from her hands silently, then made my way to my own room.

I wanted to read this in private.

I lit a candle then broke the wax seal with a knife I kept hidden on my person at all times. Once it was broken, I opened the letter and began to read. The full contents need not be rehearsed in your ears, for most of it was useless by now. She bequeathed to me several of her jewels and a handsome sum, but those jewels had long since been stolen and we were nobles in name only. It all seemed useless to me now, until I came to the closing portion of the letter. This is what it said.

_As I take my leave of this life, I feel obliged, Isabella, to set right all the wrongs that I have committed. I ask not for forgiveness, for I have not confessed and feel now that it would be of little use to me. Nevertheless, I have, for the past four and twenty years, lived in constant guilt over a great burden, which I must now place on your shoulders. My husband took the knowledge of this secret to his grave, but I will not go without telling you the truth._

_You are not my daughter, Isabella. My husband is not your father. You are ours through adoption. We raised you as our own child, even bribed certain friends in high places to forge proper documents for baptism and other sundry legalities, but you are not our child. It was in May in the year of our **LORD** 1560 when you appeared at our doorstep. You had been abandoned there, without a note and without any way of contacting your birth-parents. Edward and I took you in as our daughter and, while I don't expect you to forgive either of us for this charade, I hope you know that I cared for you in my own way. Now you know the truth, your destiny is what you make of it from now on._

_Adieu, Isabella..._

It was too much for me to believe. For a moment it seemed as though my whole life were a lie, that I was someone else's child and that the love I bore for Edward Valentine, my Father, was not real as he was not my true father. I tried to think back on my life, try to find some indication before that would have made me realize that these were not my parents.

I took the letter and placed it above the candle, watching as it slowly caught fire. The will was useless, for my family were penniless and destitute. I had made my choice. I knew of no family other than these which I had lost. _Their_ lives had been real, _their_ love had been real. Anything else was as useless as the blackened paper that burned before my eyes.

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**(AN: Well well, what do you make of that? She _chooses_ not to believe the truth because that isn ot her reality. I always tackle with odd concepts in my stories, especially my _Soul Calibur_ ones, so why not?)**

**(While some of my ff stories have had death-bed scenes, I think this one was one of the most disturbing I've had to describe. With Frexspar in _The Trials of Boq and Nessa_, it was intentionally sad because I wanted him to be less of a bad-guy at the end of his life. In this one, Elizabeth Valentine really hasn't been that much of a part of Isabella's life, but it still is rather shocking. I had to pull from the film _Goya's Ghost_ for how she looked when she died [seriously, when the mother, played by Natalie Portman, got out of prison in that movie, she looked like a leper, like death itself]. That was really disturbing, and I tried to capture that broken, horrifying image here, just to evoke how awful death appears to Ivy.)**

**(See why I made this M-rated? Heavy stuff. Don't worry, it won't be so melodramatic later on. We've got the story to get going with and we'll see the first cameo of another character from the _Soul Calibur_ series.)**


	6. The Blade

**(AN: Yay, I hoped I was doing right by Ivy! New chapter for your enjoyment!)**

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**The Blade**

If you think that I fell into depression, as had my mother and Father - the only ones I had ever known, and therefore the only real ones to me - then you are not only mistaken, but you underestimate my own strength of will. My Father was dead, my mother was dead, and our family fortune was spent. But I remembered my Father's last words. He wanted me to find the Sword of Heroes, and that was my goal. It drove me onward, gave me purpose, and I would fulfill his quest for him.

Over the following months, I had taken complete control of the mansion. My Father's instruments I kept and any remaining servants I had dismissed. The mansion was rather empty now, save for Mary, a young servant named Peter, and myself. The paintings in the hall, of myself and my Father and of the family portrait, I never sold. Those I would keep as my own, for they reminded me of times long-gone and of my endless quest.

I soon discovered that I needed not money to get what I needed. I could always use my powers in secret to threaten someone into giving me what they wanted, and through this I had gained some of the books I needed to continue my search. I spent hours pouring over these volumes, many of them in languages so ancient that I had never heard of them before and needed translations, which were also hard to find. I would sometimes work long into the night, falling asleep at my desk with my face in a book. Mary did her best and offered no complaint against my efforts, God bless her. She knew not what kind of evil she was willingly serving. As for Peter, he would have cut his throat at my command, he was so loyal. He ran errands for me and seemed constantly enamored just by being in the same room as me. If he became too unnerving, I would order him to leave or give him stripes on his back. He never complained, but neither did he cease gazing upon me ofttimes.

My work was getting nowhere, and I began to have second thoughts about this mission. It was my Father's wish that I find the Sword of Heroes, but was it really that worth it? It began to absorb my life in similar fashion as it had absorbed my Father's life. I didn't leave the manor house often, nor did I have any friends outside of Mary and Peter. It mattered not, for my work was enough for me. Then I began to wonder if I was going to end up like my Father, dying alone and drugged in his study? The thought of dying alone did not give me fear, for it would be better to die alone than surrounded by sycophantic toadies, only attending your death-bed to know if you might will something of your fortune to them. But I was not addicted to the clarity potions, and so felt myself above him, in a horrible way.

My research led me to believe that the East had the most knowledge about the Sword that there was to find in the world. I began making plans for a trip to Constantinople, the gateway to the East. But that would cost money, and I could not force a ship's captain to let me sail on his ship for free merely through a show of force. So I began to send Peter and Mary out on missions to usurers, from whom I would loan the money I needed for my voyage. I told myself that it would all be worth it in the end, until I came across a certain book that changed my perspective on the Sword entirely.

It was the oldest book in my collection, practically falling apart. I had to transcribe the writing, for even as I handled the pages, the tome began to fall apart. I have here copied what specific passage caught my attention.

_...even as I write these words, I can feel it crawling into my mind, invading my thoughts, poisoning my will. It is different this time, for I feel that I could continue on even as I am, though I do not wish to go on. What I have become is something beyond human. I shall shortly seek out a way to end it._

Hearing these words made me feel unsure about the future of this quest. But I was comforted to know this, for I had a clearer idea to the secret of my Father's downfall. Although I am not sure if he ever found it - my belief is that he did not, thank God - I am certain that his hunt for it broke his mind. But hearing these words, signed 'Z' in the characters of the ancient language of Babylon, made me realize that whatever the Sword may be, it was NOT a Sword of Heroes. 'Z' spoke of it as though it were alive, and had a will of its own that it used to dominate those who possessed it. Thought I upon seeing these words, it would be better to die than become enslaved to this malignant will.

Nevertheless, it had destroyed my Father and he never laid a hand upon it. In my mind, I feared that this Sword could influence even those who heard of it, to say nothing of those who touched it. At that moment, I rationalized that, if I had the chance, I would destroy the Sword. An eternity of slavery would not be worth all the gold in Spanish Main, nor any price in Heaven or Hell.

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**(AN: Some people have asked that if Soul Edge has reeked so much havoc, why do so few people know about it? Well, I think I might bring that up as a sub-plot, especially involving 'Z'. Yes, this might seem as a bending of canon, but Ivy needs to trust 'Z' early on, so that later, when she finds something else by 'Z', she will get it without question.)**

**(I did not fully break my promise, but I'll leave you to guess just how I fulfilled it. Next chapter will be more blunt in the cameo/first appearance of _that_ character.)  
**


	7. The Ritual

**(AN: So, it's good to have reversions of chapters, something you're working on on here and then you write it, have second thoughts, and then delete it. I had an idea about an unrequited relationship between Ivy and her servant Peter, but that end kind of made her a bit too sinister. Don't worry, she's got plenty of other sinister things ahead of her. Also, she doesn't strike me as the sociable type [her SCII ending had her live out the rest of her life as a recluse], which is another reason I thought I'd write the story through her words.)  
**

* * *

**The Ritual**

Over the next four years, I slowly gained the funds for my voyage. I would begin my investigation there and not stop until I had found the Sword and destroyed it. I did not divulge the nature of my quest to Mary or Peter. Better it would be to leave them in the dark about this quest, something beyond their comprehension. I myself could not fully believe that a weapon existed that had a soul as a man or woman. However, even if there were indeed some secret knowledge in the East that could guide me towards the Sword, I had no way of ever finding it, or not even an idea of where to begin. Then one day, I was pouring through my grimories and found one spell entitled '_To Call the Lost Forward._'

For a moment, I wondered if I could in fact cast this spell, if I could learn the location of this Sword, perhaps from the souls long lost of those who had gone to seek it in ancient times. But upon gazing at the spell, I noticed that it was rather complicated: very easy to err and very disastrous if done wrong. Then again, from reading the description, I was even more amazed. Part of me wondered if this spell could be cast at all: there were detailed instructions regarding what circumstances needed to be fulfilled in order for even the proper setting to be achieved. There was mention of a sacrifice to be paid which seemed horrifying, even to me. Nevertheless, an arduous and expensive journey by sea might possibly be avoided if it could be done.

It was one night in the year 1587 when I decided to hazard the attempt. It was evening and I was making a mental note of all the things that had to be done before midnight, when the ritual would begin. I had sent Mary to scour the house of rats and bring me their bodies, while I sent Peter to purchase absinthe just in case. The grimorie was vague as to what kind of blood the ritual called for, so I thought I would have a back-up plan in case rat-blood didn't work. His return was delayed and I felt that he might not be here in time.

At last, however, as night was starting to fall, the shuffling of Peter's feet could be heard upon the floor of the mansion. He had arrived at last. I told Mary to give me the dead rats, then sent her off to her room to clean, or whatever she did: part of me wondered if she ever slept, the loyal old bird. Now Peter alone was with me as I entered the hidden laboratory. From the top of the stairs, I could hear Peter shuffling and muttering nervously. Meanwhile, I had been painting the floor with circles and star-shapes, when I heard his whimperings.

"Feeling nervous, Peter?" I called back.

"Yes, my lady," he returned. "Begging your pardon and all, but I'm not sure about this what you're planning. I mean, is this Sword of Heroes really worth the cost of your soul?"

"Probably not," I replied. "But if I can at least avenge my Father, that should be enough."

"Still, there must be some other way," Peter warned. "I mean, you're meddling with forces as shouldn't be meddled with, if you'll pardon my frankness, my lady."

"Have you read _The Prince_, Peter?" I asked him.

"No, my lady," he shook his head. "I cannot read."

"Pity," I began. "There's something therein that applies to this situation."

"Oh? If I may ask, what is that?"

"'Never was anything great achieved without danger,'" quoth I.

"That's exactly why I'm a'feared, my lady," Peter replied. "I don't want to see you in danger. You see, I've lived outside of this mansion, and it's not a safe place, certainly not a safe place for a lady."

"Why do you say so?" queried I.

"There's evil men out there," Peter said. "They would take advantage of your...delicateness, my lady. I couldn't bear to live with it: may the Virgin curse me if I ever let that ha-"

Before he could finish his oath, I had turned about and wrapped my whip around his neck. While the switch hit harder, over the years I had started to grow fond of using a whip. Not only could I lash someone with it, I could drag them along as though they were chained. With the whip around his neck, I forced him onto his knees and walked towards him, barely capable of containing the feeling within my bosom. It felt so good, having Peter completely at my mercy.

I laughed cheekily. "Who ever said I was delicate, Peter?"

"No one, my lady," he returned, an eagerness in his eyes. "Not I!"

"Good," I smiled, unwrapping the whip from around his neck. I never intended to hurt him, only to show that I was the stronger one. Nevertheless, I could see the look in his eyes and it made me uncomfortable. He seemed too eager, too willing to submit to me.

"Now, pick up your feet and bring me those rats," I told him.

He continued without any further protests. I told him to stand back while I completed drawing the circle in rat's blood. Once it was complete, I began drawing another circle nearby. This would take hours of careful drawing, for if even one line was crooked or one letter missing from the insides of the circle, the spell would not work. As I drew, I chanted the words from the grimorie. I knew Peter must surely be soiling himself on the stairs above, fearful that his mistress was performing dark magic, to the damning of his soul and of mine.

To me, no depth was too deep, as far as learning the dark arts was concerned. I enjoyed power, for it made me the master of my own world, free of anyone and anything. Thus did I decide that, though the legends spoke of it as powerful, the Sword of Heroes, Soul Edge, must be destroyed. It had enslaved my Father, though he never possessed it, and it brought him his death before his time. Power without freedom was as meaningless as freedom without power.

As the midnight hour drew nigh, I sat in the completed smaller circle, chanting the words from the book. By now, Peter was long asleep, and it mattered not to me. I was _this_ close, closer than I had ever been in four years of research, to say nothing of the seemingly countless years prior in which my Father and I had sought knowledge of the Sword. The words flowed out of my mouth like water through a sieve, my hands moving with the cunning of an aged spinster. At last, she could hear the sound of a bell tolling the hour. Her mouth dried as she chanted the words.

"I conjure you, _Somnum Exterreri Solebat_, by the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost, by the Virgin Mary and all the saints, to appear in person so you may speak to me and fulfill my desires!" I cried into the circle. "Come swiftly at my bidding and I will grant you whatever you want, however vile, unto the curtailing of my soul!"

My body shook with excitement as I spoke the words, eagerly anticipating if anything would indeed appear. If nothing happened by the last toll of the bell, I would burn the book with my own hand, years of research come to naught. Only Constantinople would hold any secrets, and I was wary already about making a lengthy voyage into unknown lands, as I had not left my native land ever since. I held my breath in anticipation, the only sounds the tolling of the bell and the beating of my heart against my chest. Outside, the sixth bell tolled. I thought to myself how foolish it would be if nothing happened, and how angry I would be. Now a seventh time. But it could be a thousand different things, I knew, should the spell fail. An eighth I had drawn the symbol wrong, or misspelled one of the words. Nine. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. Ten. I heard a rush of strong wind. Eleven. But there were no windows, and no wind out this night. Then, at last, the hour struck.

An apparition appeared before me, wreathed in emerald flames. In the midst of the fire, I saw a figure clad in blue armor, who carried himself like a nobleman. Its right hand was monstrous, yet the being seemed unperturbed by this reality. Instead, it gazed out of the fires, directly at something else: at me.

"You have called my name, woman," the figure said. "And here I am. Why have you summoned me?"

"Oh, my lord!" I cried out, prostrating myself before the image. "I am your humble servant! Impart to me your knowledge that I may fulfill my desires!"

For a moment, there was silence, only the roar of the flames. The fiery gaze of the spirit looked upon me, and I bowed before it. Surely a being of such great power deserved my devotion, or at least my courtesy, if I were to ask it to divulge to me the location of the Sword and how to destroy it.

"Take this," the apparition said. "It will guide you to me. When you have presented yourself before me, I will tell you what next you shall do."

There was a rush of wind and suddenly the emerald apparition was gone. In its place was the hilt of a sword, gilt all over in gold with an emerald socketed into the hilt. But it was the blade that intrigued me the most. It was not a straight sword, but its shards were lying in pieces, each piece tied to the hilt by a strand of thin metal cord through the center of each piece, terminating in an arrowhead-shaped point. As I looked upon it, my eyes still filled with the image of the apparition in the emerald fire, my first thoughts were of the trailing vines of an ivy bush, sprawled across wood or stone. It made my heart glad. Wood and stone were strong, yet the ivy could conquer them all. It was a sign of strength, subtle and cautious yet powerful and overcoming. Already I felt drawn to this weapon.

I reached out and wrapped my fingers about the hilt of the sword, and suddenly I felt something: like a heart beating softly beneath my fingers. The ivy-leaf shards of the blade glowed a pale shade of violet, then they gathered themselves together, forming a single blade. Out of curiosity, I ran my left hand down the naked blade, but felt no groove or notch to indicate that it had formerly been broken. Beneath the fingers of my right hand, the beating seemed to be echoing in my mind, assuring me of what I should do, of where I should go. Beyond a shadow of a doubt, this sword was alive.

For a moment, I feared that this was the Sword of Heroes and that it would seek to take me under its sway. But those fears were short-lived. Even as I held it in my hand, the beating softened even more, until its pulse was no stronger than a lover's soft breath upon the neck. It assuaged my doubts: _it_ lived, but it was a servant. _My_ servant. I held the rigid blade aloft and commanded it in a strong voice.

"Sing, my sword! Guide me to my destiny!"

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**(AN: So not only did I get my other cameo in this chapter, but now Ivy has her sword! Yay!)**

**(I found myself enjoying writing this chapter, and I hope you love it as well. Of course, we can also see how she got the name for her sword. Very soon, we shall be off on our gruesome quest to search for the Ultimate Sword! And you, dear readers, are invited to be witnesses along with me in Isabella Valentine's adventures!)  
**

**(Please review! They're very welcomed and VERY appreciated! [and thank you once again to those who have reviewed, don't stop now])  
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	8. First Step

**(AN: A journey of a thousand miles always begins this way...)  
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**First Step  
**

_1587 AD_

When I finally fell asleep, I kept the sword with me. In my hand I could feel its presence. It spoke no words, yet I could _feel_ that it was alive, know that it was present, and that it was my servant. And the sword learned of me as well. The gentle percussion of its life, throbbing within my hand, tapped into my mind, learning all there was to know about me. It was not domineering, nor did I sense that it would misuse this knowledge against me. So bonded we were that no words were needed: it wanted to know me and its reasons were purely to know.

You may think me mad, or hysterical beyond belief: I care not. Everything that I say happened exactly as it happened. While I can hardly say, as though I stood before St. Peter, that I have been entirely honest throughout my whole life, I am not given to fantastic exaggeration. The sword was living, it learned of me and I of it. This is the truth, as God is my witness.

In the morning, I awoke, weary from the long hours of wakefulness after midnight, but no less for the ware. As I arose, I found that the sword was beckoning me onward, telling me that I should go. I did not question it. I had the means to find it, and soon I would discover Soul Edge and destroy it. At once I set forth packing my things. I had only two dresses, the black one I wore and one that was the color of pale violet pearls. All the rest had been stolen by servants less than loyal to myself and my family. I only needed these.

Back to my laboratory I went and scoured the book-cases and tables for any books that might be important for reading concerning the Sword of Heroes. I was determined to know everything about it when I found it, the better to destroy it. I brought along also the most vital of my instruments, with only one piece of jewelry: a necklace that had belonged to my mother. It was a plain thing, made of silver and adorned with a single amethyst: behind the gem was a portrait of my Father and mother. That I would never leave behind, for it was one of the last mementos of a happier life.

All alone, I entered my private study and began to undress. Once my dress was lying in a chest among the other one, I brought out what I had been working on slowly for years and years: my harness. It was made all of leather, dyed a shade of violet so deep that it looked black. I had beautified it with buttons of brass to secure the thongs that kept it together, and the thigh-boots were bound with garters of gold upon the hips. As leather was rough, I had lined the insides with silk, so that my breasts and nethers would not chafe.

I squeezed my body into this tight harness, fastening the buttons and tightening the buckles as tight as possible. It ached, but I relished in the pain. Pain made me strong, and I was determined to be stronger. Once I was all wrapped and squeezed in, I looked upon myself once again. The harness certainly held my large breasts in place, as I had fashioned a bronze yoke that held them in place from the bottom, but it wouldn't do much good in a fight. I needed a shield, but did not want to be over-encumbered by heavy weapons. The apparition understood that, and so gave me a sword that needed only one hand, quick and easy to thrust or slash. Nevertheless, I would need better protection.

For the moment, I had no clue as to how I would fulfill this need, so I made my way softly to Peter's room. As he was my servant, I could take from him whatever I needed. He slept heavily, and my entry into his room was unmarked. I opened his chest and removed a jacket and a hat with a wide rim. I would travel by coach, but I would not hire anybody. I knew how to ride and could conduct the horses adequately enough, therefore I reasoned to go clad as a boy. While I was powerful, I knew the risks I would take traveling as a woman alone.

I then made my way back to my room and brought out a pair of spring scissors. Using the reflection from the breastplate of my grandfather's armor - Mary always kept it in good condition - I began to sheer off my long, beautiful locks of snow white hair. It was sad to see my hair, so long that it fell down to my hips, be cut off, yet I had no other choice. To complete my charade, I would have to look the part and long hair was not very easy to contain, especially on the road. At last, however, the long strands of my hair lay about my feet and all that was left came no lower than where my jaws met my temples. But it had to be done.

This done, I thrust my right arm into the jacket, but suddenly came to a halt. I was looking at my grandfather's armor, another memento of my family name. For a moment, I pondered donning the armor. I removed the breastplate from the stand, but found it too heavy. Then a thought came to my mind. I had seen lords in jousting tourneys fashion the armor of their arms like a shield, I could do likewise. So I took the gauntlet, plate and pauldrons of the left arm and fastened it onto my own arm. While it was cumbersome, running my left arm through the jacket - thankfully, Peter's shoulders stouter than mine and my arms could fit easily into the sleeves of his jacket - and the shoulder pauldron gave the appearance that I was a hunchback, I now felt better about my gear. I paused for a moment to consider whether I should have put the armor over the jacket. The leather harness was meant to be worn underneath my dresses, not as actual clothing. However, I decided against this change in the end. It would be better to conceal my armor, so that, if I were attacked by bandits, I could fool them into thinking I was unarmed and appear invincible when their blades glanced off my seemingly unprotected arm.

My departure was not as swift as I would have hoped. My clothes fit easily into half of a trunk, and I added my instruments into the same one as well, the delicate ones packed among my dresses to keep them from breaking. Another chest, the heaviest, had all of my books in it. While I had cast an enchantment on it to make the weight disproportionately lighter, it was still very heavy. These I dragged out of the mansion and into the stables. I would not ask them to come with me. Peter would follow me wherever I went and be too much of a liability, while Mary had no real purpose leaving the mansion. Once my trunks were loaded into the passenger's compartment of the coach, I saddled the horses and hitched them to the carriage, then placed Peter's hat atop my head, then climbed aboard. In one hand was my sword, the Ivy blade, and in the other were the reins. I urged them onward and braced myself as the carriage lurched forward. I left my home without regrets, without remorse. Destiny awaited, my Father, Earl Edward Valentine, would be avenged.

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**(AN: As Ivy has a wealth of information about her, I could make this an epic multi-chapter like _Siegfried_. You probably wouldn't mind plenty of chapters, so with that in mind, she has now left home and is going out into the wide world!)**

**(I thought the Ivy blade needed some kind of subtle consciousness. And, of course, by subtle, I mean not a voice in her head, but a feeling that only occurs when _she_ holds the blade.)  
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**(Fun stuff to happen soon, so don't go anywhere!)  
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	9. Encounters

**(AN: There will be language, eventually, in this story. Sometimes, as far as my stories go, the language gets out of hand. I wonder if the c-word ["C-you-next-Tuesday", as someone once put it] would be historically accurate, if not acceptable on an M-rated story. I don't think I've used that word before, so that's why I wonder. By out of hand, means profanity is used pretty much every other word [like a Quentin Tarentino or Kevin Smith movie].)**

**(Read on!)  
**

* * *

**Encounters**

As I bounced along the dirt roads, horses neighing proudly as they carried my carriage towards London, a thought came to my mind that, I must confess, was fueled by my naivety and lack of experience. I thought that, because of my skills in sorcery and because of my cleverness, I would never have the need to face off against an enemy or even to draw my sword. I was sorely mistaken.

On my very first setting out, I was on the road and passed through a forest. London was still many miles away and there were no houses in the area. In the midst of the road, in my path, I saw three men with staves in their hands standing before me. I pulled the reins and brought the carriage to a halt.

"Out of the road," I ordered them. "I am in haste."

"Are you now, laddie?" one of the men said. "And why should we give this road to you? You're not the Queen, you don't own this road."

"Nevertheless, I must insist that you yield the road to me," I retorted.

"'Cuz you in haste?" asked the first man. "We'll let you go, after you pay the road toll."

"I am a noble, I need not pay a toll!" I replied, my frustration mounting to where I made a slip of the tongue.

"Bollocks, that is!" one of the other men said. "No nobleman drives his own coach. 'Ere, Reg, check inside, see who this youngster's traffickin'."

I looked about and noticed, to my fear, that I was being surrounded. A circle of men armed with spears and clubs were closing around the carriage. The one called 'Reg' looked into my coach and called out to his fellows: "No one's 'ere!"

"Well, ain't that something?" asked the first one, a smile on his face.

"I'm warning you," I returned. "Out of my way..."

"Oh, do you hear that, lads?" the first man said to his fellows. "Cocky little bastard, he is! Reckon we should teach 'im some manners?"

"Aye," one of the others on my left added. "Let's send this arrogant straw-pole back to his mother with a sound thrashing."

At the moment, I was afraid that I had come upon a situation in which there was no escape. But my foot touched the hilt of my sword, hidden beneath the coach's bench during the ride, and suddenly I became confident. I smiled, then laughed aloud.

"What's so funny, lad?" asked the first vagrant. "You're outnumbered, nine to one."

"Thank you," I replied.

"What for?"

"For telling me how many you are," I said. With a flourish, I drew my sword out and brandished it before them. Some stepped back a pace, but the bolder ones barred their teeth at me and goaded me to strike them. I thrust out at the nearest one, but the blow was over-wide and my boots slipped and I fell onto the earth. As they were gathering around me, one of them called them to halt.

"See those legs?" he said. "I reckon they're too pretty to be a boy's, don't you?"

"Get up, poppet!" shouted the one called Reg. "Show us your face!"

I rose up to face them, sword in hand, but my jacket had fallen open, revealing my breast-plate. At this, they all to a man started laughing and pointing at me. But just beneath their mocking laughter, I could hear the gentle percussive whispers of my sword, suggesting in my mind the same two words over and over: _Command me._

"Oh look, it's a woman!" Reg shouted. Among the laughter, some of the other bandits began howling, whistling or growling at me. I eyed them one by one, wrapped my fingers tightly around the hilt of my sword.

"Dance!" I shouted.

As if in concert with my command, the sword shot out as though it were a spear that I had lunged from my hand, and struck the foot of the nearest bandit. He tripped and fell. I moved my hand towards the next one, and my extended blade swung as though it were a whip, and its teeth cut into the second bandit's leg, causing him to fall as well. The sword told me to stand up and I did, and as I did, the blade became rigid again, blocking a swipe from a staff. I jabbed my knee into his codpiece, sending him doubled over, crying like a little girl and singing like a choirboy.

"Come on, you b*tch!" shouted Reg. "I'll shove that whip-sword up your c..." But before he could vocalize his next profanities, my sword struck his open mouth like a serpent, hacking off his tongue.

"Silence!" I retorted cheekily.

I then turned to the others and swung my sword above my head, as though it were my whip and I were about to give them stripes. I could see the fear in their eyes: four of their number had been immobilized by a woman, and it made them sorely afraid. Once, twice, three times I swung my sword above my head as a whip, then brought it down upon the bandits about me. One glancing slash carved a deep gash in one man's stomach, another one now sported a slash across his face, and a third lost his right hand.

The last two ran for their lives. But the leader was the one I wanted. I thrust my sword out, and it extended itself outward, impaling the leader in the back of the leg. He crumbled to the ground as my blade coiled back into a sword. He was now crawling backwards away from me, whimpering and crying. His hands reached to his belt for a pistol, and I commanded the blade to strike his hands, slicing open the tips of his fingers. He dropped the pistol, but kept trying to crawl away.

"What was that about a toll, little man?" I mocked. "I can go where I please."

"P-Please, spare me life, good lady!" the thief begged.

"Begging for your life?" I retorted with disgust. "You revolting little worm!"

I pointed my sword at his throat, then watched as the shards of blade coiled around his neck, slicing open his throat while strangling him at the same time. It was hardly a worthy fight, for he was dead by the time he and his runagates had stopped my carriage. Once his body stopped squirming, I cleaned the blood off my blade with his jacket, then went back to pick up my own. While I made my way back to my coach, I pondered on this, my first battle. While once I had opened myself to the suggestions of my sword, the battle was well within my hands, I noticed that, once they noticed that I was a woman, there was a moment where they were more or less brought to a stand-still.

As I was putting my jacket back on, I noticed why: my leather harness showed off more of my body than they had seen in their entire lives. It then dawned upon me that, while armored only on my arm and hardly battle-worthy, I had a distinct advantage over my enemies. As they would be men, they would pause for a moment to see my body, and in that moment, I would take advantage of their weakness. I was already amazed at how the sword could stretch itself or take on the properties of a whip. I looked at my thigh-boots and wondered if I should have created a sheath for this sword, though I know that I had never had even half of the belief that I would go forth armed.

However, as I climbed back aboard the coach and cracked the reins, a smile on my face as I felt the wheels lurch as I rode over their bodies, I knew that I could not dress this way in public. While I could doubtless govern a battle with men, it would be quite another thing walking the streets of London clad in a leather harness where ankles were the least of what was shown.

* * *

**(AN: My biggest argument in retort to those who say that Ivy's outfits are impractical for combat scenarios has always been that Ivy is a unique fighter. She doesn't fit into a typical combat scenario because she has a sword that can act like a spear, a whip or a hail of steel-shards. She could hack down her enemies from fifteen or twenty feet and not need to be clad in plate armor from head to toe. Obviously, for the sake of this story, she will encounter foes to whom this tactic does not always work. Don't want to make things too easy for her.)**

**(That's how you make good characters: give them hell and watch with pride as they overcome.)  
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	10. Glories of the East

**(AN: Granted, we have not even begun _Soulcalibur I_ yet, as far as the storyline goes, but I just really love "Maze of the Blade." I want to 'use' that, even though sound really isn't an option in reading, but I want, once we get to _SCII_ [the first game of the series I played, really loved it], to have more locales visited as the story progresses. It would also be important because Egypt is one of the few places that would have existed so long ago that they would have had records of our mystery character [-hint at who he/she might be-])  
**

**(But enough of that, we now take you to a new chapter. Also, yay, I didn't know that this was my fortieth fan-fic! Jolly-good, it's gonna be a good one, I can tell! :D)  
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* * *

**Glories of the East  
**

I was ever careful after that not to go into dangerous places needlessly. There was no resistance from thereon, no further assailants on the road to London. The boat I had chartered was present on time, docked at a port on the Thames. They were more than willing to load my luggage onto the ship after I parted with a few gold coins for their service, and soon I would be on my way to another port in Italy. From there, I would charter a second vessel that would take me all the way to Constantinople. My reasons were not entirely for the seeking of the sword. All my life, I had heard tales of these exotic places, but now they were within my grasp and I would indeed be the greatest fool if I took not this opportunity.

The journey at sea was most unpleasant. For weeks I was trapped below deck, attempting to keep from getting ill as the floor swayed beneath my feet. Even the bed I slept upon was rocking back and forth. Table-side candles were not safe, so I had to try to read my books under the light of an over-head lantern that swung with the rest of the room. Needless to say, this was not one of the most enjoyable parts of my journey. But it would all be worth it once I saw the beauties of Naples and Constantinople.

There was also a logical reason for journeying this particular route. Spain and France were never in good standing with England, therefore I could not board a ship and cross the Channel into enemy territory. Nor could I disembark from Naples and strike out from there. I had read the histories of the Roman Empire and the tale of the Punic Wars told me that only a fool would dare to cross the Alps. During the better part of the journey, all my sword told me was that I should be upon the continent. As I could not approach from Spain or France, nor had I the brazenness of Hannibal, I would cross the Bosphorous, hire another carriage and make my way across the continent, going where the sword would direct me.

* * *

When at last I made landfall, I spent a day and two nights in Naples to enjoy the sights of Italy. It was strange to me, for I had never been outside of my native England. While I knew almost no Italian, I was fluent in Latin and could speak when necessary. The structures were magnificent, relics of a time from which my native land was long separated. The people, also were sundry in their types: Italians, Germans, Turks and a host of other colorful figures flooded the streets.

However, I did not stay there for too long. While there, I had heard rumors of strange customs in Constantinople, and now I wished to go thither to see them. Once my ship arrived, I took my leave of Naples and crossed the stormy Mediterranean, even as the Greeks and Romans had done in ancient times. After seven days, we came within sight of Troy, the ruins of that once great city of which Homer elaborated. A day or more and at last it appeared before us.

Against the advice of the captain, I climbed on deck and stood upon the bow as the ship approached the city. As I looked upon the great city, I began to realize just how far I had come: practically the end of what many believed was the known world. Even from the bow, I could see the spires of the Hagia Sophia, and before us the Great Chain that bound the Bosphorous. I sighed in eager anticipation: far from home had I come, yet my road had just begun.

When at last I made landfall, I felt as though Naples, as strange and alien to me as it had been, had been closer to home than this. Almost nobody spoke any language I could recognize other than Latin: most of it was Greek or Turkish. Nevertheless, I went in search of the mysteries of the East and soaked it all in. I had no deadline, for I could leave this place whenever I wanted, taking a ferry across the Bosphorous.

I shall take this moment to elaborate on one custom of the East which I learned in Constantinople. While I was there, I was curious as to the customs which the people underwent, especially the bathing rituals. We had no such rituals in England, and it seemed quite odd to consider washing oneself with water. Had these Turks no thought if their skin was washed away, thought I. Nevertheless, curiosity drove me to investigate the bath houses and what I found was delightful.

The Turks have structures which they call _hamam, _where they perform lengthy rituals for the cleansing of the body. These _hamam_ are divided into at least three rooms. In the first room, one is allowed to sweat under hot, dry air, after which they retire to a steam-filled second room. Then they are cooled off by splashing water on their bodies, then they are washed all over and rubbed by the attendants. After this, they repair to a third room, cooler than the other two, where the bathers relax.

It was the best experience I had ever had. My skin felt strangely fresh after the bathing and when the attendants rubbed my back, I thoroughly enjoyed it. I always knew my breasts caused my back to ache, but I never knew just how much until then. In fact, the experience was so profound that I now bathe at least once a week, if only to keep my skin beautiful.

As much as I enjoyed the _hamam_, I doubt you need my detailed explanation of all that went on therein. But there was something that occurred in the cooling room that I found particularly helpful. I was relaxing, apparently by myself, when I heard voices whispering in one corner of the room. For a moment, I paid no heed until I heard a phrase in Latin with which I had grown dangerously accustomed: _Malus Gladius_.

That was another name for the Sword of Heroes, Soul Edge. I wanted to know what they said, so I paid careful attention. Most of the words were in a language I knew not of, and so I caught very few words. But as I listened, there was another word that I discerned that was neither Latin nor Greek, but German. It was not a word in particular, but a name. From their conversation, I gathered that the _Malus Gladius_ was in this place. I had not my Ivy blade with me, for weapons were not permitted within the _hamam_, and I had no place to conceal it, as I was not even wearing my harness at this time, just a sheet of white linen. But I determined that, when I left the _hamam_, I would ask the sword about this place.

_Ostrheinsburg_.

* * *

**(AN: Originally _this_ was to be the chapter entitled "Ostrheinsburg", but that got pushed forward to the next chapter [I seem to be doing that a lot], so I had a brief description of her time in Constantinople. Kind of pointless, but now she's got more than a 'feeling' from her sword on which she is directing her course. I mean, people have been loving this story so far, I probably could get away with carrying it out.)**

**(Lol, don't worry, the shite will get real in the next chapter. I think I've lolly-gagged enough. Once again, review! I've given you plenty of chapters to read lately, read and review! I shall post new ones soon!)  
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	11. Ostrheinsburg

**(AN: Now I finally got to where I needed to be in the last chapter, so here it is, portraying events mentioned in _Siegfried_ and _Sophitia_, but of course from different perspectives. Should be fun.)  
**

* * *

**Ostrheinsburg**

I now had a name and the Ivy blade was guiding me toward the continent. I crossed the Bosphorous, purchased a carriage for my goods and, once again dressed as a boy, made my way into the continent. Not but a day out of Constantinople and I was beset by enemies on both sides: the Turks against the Romanians. It was the first time I was brought before real warfare. Gunfire was everywhere, as were the roars of the two parties as they charged into each other's lines over and over again. It was only my sword that kept me alive through all the chaos.

I continued on, traveling north-west, towards the Rhineland. I encountered nothing else along the way, save for a young girl with a sword who tried to delay me. I taught her a lesson and went on my way: killing her would be meaningless and I was in haste. Also, this young girl was not exactly a seasoned warrior. I could tell that from her apologetic tone and her innocent stare. She was clad in very little armor and did not seem as though she had would follow me if I made a small show of force. But it took up my time, and so I did not stay overlong to punish her. Instead, I threw Peter's jacket back onto my body and cracked the reins over the horses' backs, galloping onward as hard as they could go. I was led by the Ivy blade's will and nothing could hold me back now.

The blade led me into the Rhineland, to a valley east of the great Rhine that was shrouded in darkness. If one looked with eyes only, they would truly disgusted by what they saw in this valley: there was nothing living or anything green in all the valley, the stench of decay hung heavy on the wind and the light of the sun could not penetrate the dark clouds. But I could sense the magic in this place, more powerful and darker than anything I had ever encountered. Something had killed all the grass and chased away all the animals: not even birds flew into that valley. But I purposed to go thither, for my sword was urging me onward, into the valley.

From where I stood, on the carriage atop a hill looking down into the valley, I saw the Rhine itself, cutting across the middle of the valley. In the midst of the river was a great castle, and it was to that castle that I purposed to set as my compass. I cracked the reins, driving my horses onward. Yet even as they passed under the shadow of that valley, they went wild, neighing and chomping at their bridles. No matter how much I cracked the reins or lashed at their backs with the whip, they would not go further into this valley. So it was that I angrily set them free and abandoned the carriage. Now left with the unhappy prospect of walking across this blighted land, carrying my luggage by myself, I opened one of the trunks and began dressing myself in proper clothing. Perhaps I could convince those within to carry my luggage out for me. Not that I could not do so myself, but it was a long distance and my own magic could not hold for that great a distance.

I made the final approach to the castle on my own. There was no resistance, yet I kept my sword close at hand. I walked down to a gatehouse with broken-down gates. It seemed rather pointless not to repair these gates, for I continued in regardless. Beyond was a bridge that connected the island with the keep to the eastern shore. Over the bridge I went and through a great archway that led into the castle proper. It must have been a magnificent sight in the days of its glory, yet now it seems forlorn and gloomy. Perhaps it was because of the lack of sunlight or of anything living in this part of the valley that made it seem all the more dead to my eyes. I would have thought it had been abandoned had I not heard the bell toll the hour after mid-day.

Up to the great keep I walked, and met a pair of wooden doors bound with iron. These had been repaired, I could see, for they had been besieged and repaired over the years. I pushed my hands to them and found that they swung open easily. Beyond was a darkened hall with a high, vaulted ceiling streaming with ancient banners. What little light there was came from torches in several niches in the walls. The floor was overlaid with a scarlet carpet that led up to a throne at the farthest end of the hall. My heart beat fervently as I slowly walked towards the throne. As I came closer, I began to discern the figures gathered upon and about the throne. One was obviously male, impossibly large and muscular, like the statues of the gods I had seen in Naples. Another creature, perhaps a jester or other sort of varlet, was hiding in the shadow of the throne, whither my eyes were directed.

Upon the throne sat a man clad in blue armor from head to toe. His head was covered in a blue helm with a single spike, his left hand sat on the arms of his throne and the right hand, larger and more powerful than the other, sat on the hilt of a broadsword, the likes of which I had never seen in all my life, from then until now. Its blade was of silvery steel and there was no cross-guard between the grip and the blade. But upon the blade itself, at the end of the fuller, was a single yellow-red eye that seemed to be looking. Once I saw that eye, and the person who sat upon the throne, my heart leaped within me. Here surely was the apparition in living flesh.

"Who dares come before me?" the apparition demanded. Even his voice bespoke of power. I bowed before him and thus replied.

"It is I, great one, your humble servant, whom you deemed worthy to appear before me and grant life to my sword."

The blue-clad figure nodded silently, then retorted: "Why have you come to my fortress?"

"My lord," I continued. "My sword has guided and protected me throughout this long, arduous journey, and it has at last led me to you. I offer you my service, great one, in return for the favor you showed me."

Looking back on the decisions of this day, it might not have been the wisest choice to make. But I owed my life to my sword and this one had given it life, therefore I felt obliged to serve him in exchange for what he would do for me; aiding me in destroying Soul Edge.

The lord called me forward and asked me to kneel before him. He then introduced his attendants. The muscle-bound giant was Astaroth, a golem of Fygul Cestemus. I had heard of that cult, pagans, worshipers of the vain gods of the ancient world. Yet it did not seem vain anymore, for their powers had brought this beast to life. The second one, whom I had thought a jester, repulsed me at the very first. He looked like a wingless dragon, clad from head to toe in scales like a fish, with the face of a dragon and the tail of one as well. His breath reeked of rotting flesh and a hungry glare was in his eyes. The lord introduced this one as Aeon Calcos, a Spartan from ancient times, though I affectionately called him 'Lizardman' here after. He never liked it.

"We are summoning souls to this place, woman," the lord said, after he had introduced his minions. He rose to his feet, and I saw that he was not very tall but broad-shouldered. An aura of greatness permeated his being even as he stood glowering over me. "Every one of us here serves a purpose: I am the summoner, Astaroth is my body-guard and Calcos was once a Spartan warrior. What unique talent do you bring that would benefit our cause?"

I told them of my skill in alchemy and sorcery, but none of them were very impressed. They were not even shocked when I told them I was a sorceress. It seemed rather anticlimactic: for years, my Father had warned me about keeping our secret practices unknown to everyone for fear of the severe reprisals we would face. Now I spoke my full mind and found that this great secret, as I had seen it, was no great matter to these great ones. But it was when I mentioned the sword that the lord asked to see it. I stripped down to my harness and revealed my sword to them. Foolish, but I had seemingly lost all my things back with the carriage and I was clad only in my black dress and the harness.

This seemed to please them: I was sworn into the service of the lord, the Azure Knight. For the sake of vengeance, for the lure of power and for my Father's memory, I bought servitude at the price of my freedom, my body...and my soul.

* * *

**(AN: Yay, we're at _Soulcalibur I_ now! Like in _Tira_, I paraphrased my own work, since I didn't really need to quote the full thing.)**

**(I also thought it was interesting that, in this story, Sophitia [that woman she encountered] was nothing more than a nuisance whereas she was the heroine of her own story. Surprising how one person's "bad guy" is the hero of their story, and that same person is "joe[sephine] nobody" on the side of the street.)  
**

**(Please review some more. I want to know how I've been doing so far, and if you have any thoughts on what is going to happen next.)  
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	12. Denizens of Darkness

**(AN: When I originally wrote in those two supporting characters, I had originally intended that the ritual to summon the Azure Knight would require a blood sacrifice and that the rat's blood wouldn't work, so Ivy would be forced to sacrifice one of them. But it would seem wrong since Peter has unrequited feelings for her and she would be manipulating those feelings to use him for the sacrifice. I don't know, I was going for that strongly, since it would show just how determined Ivy is, but then I figured that it just didn't feel right. Don't worry, I might have something happen later on down the line.)  
**

**(Oh, by the way, I just gotta say this. I grew up with _SCII_ and while I liked most of the next installments [the least being, of course, _SCV_], some of the voice actors from _SCII_ were the best. Among them were the Azure Knight, Mitsurugi [who's got to have a cameo in this story, he always does in my _SC_ fics, it's a rule - lol, then if I feel like writing his story, it's going to have EVERYONE in it], Cervantes and especially Astaroth. Some voices, however, were a bit wooden in it [like Sophitia, Kilik and Ivy, imo], and they did get better, so over all, yeah. If you don't like Lani Minella [Ivy's voice actress from _SCIII_ onward] or Jay S. Gilbert [Astaroth from _SCII_], you can imagine them sounding however you like as you read this.)  
**

**(Yay for the imagination! New chapter!)  
**

* * *

**Denizens of Darkness**

As you read these words, doubtless you will criticize what I did over the next several weeks. I don't need to explain myself to you or to anyone, for what I did I am answerable to no one. However, lest you think that I was foolish and easily manipulated, I must needs set the record straight. My overwhelming desire was to avenge the loss of my Father, and the Azure Knight, my new lord, had given life to the sword that had guided and protected me throughout my journey.

But there was something else. After I was formally sworn into the service of the Azure Knight, he summoned us to a separate room, where he told us where we would stay in the castle. I was given the old chapel on the north-west island. While we were dispersing to our assigned places, I remained behind to voice my fears before the Azure Knight. However, as I stood before the seemingly imposing figure, I found myself unable to speak my full mind, and concluded by asking a few particulars about the summoning ritual.

"I told you before," he replied angrily. "We are summoning souls to this hallowed ground."

"But why?" I asked, ignoring that I was speaking to the one who gave my sword life and therefore the only one who deserved my respect.

He breathed off his anger, then replied with five words that changed how I felt about him: _To bring back the dead. _When I heard those words, I felt at once relieved and disturbed. While I had delved deep into the dark arts, necromancy was still something with which I was unfamiliar. Such was the reason for my fear, yet why would I have hope at this news? Those words, or perhaps his choice of words, mirrored how I had summoned him. _To bring back the dead_ was very near to the words of the spell: _To Call the Lost Forward_. My heart stopped and I gasped for breath. Could it be possible that I would not have to destroy the sword after all? Could I not instead ally myself to my new lord and, through helping him, bring back my Father?

Apparently, the Azure Knight noticed my bemused demeanor. "What is wrong, Ivy?"

"Nothing, my lord," I replied. "It's just, well, I have another obligation...but, I believe, it will not hinder my loyalty to you."

"It won't," the Azure Knight stated. "Or you will die for it."

I agreed to this, for I knew how to behave before my superiors. I had no reason to mistrust him, no cause for doubt as of yet. If he wished to exercise his lordly authority, that was his prerogative and who was I to argue? I did feel, however, that I deserved to tell him my full purpose. His sword had been nothing but helpful to me on my journey, I felt obliged to be completely honest and truthful with him. I told him of my quest and of the fall of my family in brief, and that I sought Soul Edge, the Sword of Heroes, for to destroy it. When I had finished talking, he seemed rather pensive for long moment.

At last he broke the silence with a question. "Have you ever seen Soul Edge?"

"No, my lord, I have not." quoth I.

The Azure Knight grunted, then turned to leave the meeting room. Before he left, he halted and spoke these last words of parting to me: "All shall be well in the end, Ivy. I promise you."

"Please, my lord, call me Isabella."

An imperceptible nod came from the direction of the Azure Knight, who then walked back to his quarters, leaving me to meander alone to the chapel. Then it dawned in my mind that the large one, Astaroth, might be of some use to me. With my sword in hand and after checking the map, I made my way to the dungeons, eager to end this business with the beast. He didn't seem to like people, much less myself. But while I walked down the halls to the dungeon, I thought back on the Azure Knight. He seemed the most human of these inhuman creatures, and what was more, I could distinctly tell that he seemed more open to my company. For some reason I gave him my true name.

Down in the dungeons, in the darkest, foulest place of the castle, I found the black giant, wielding his mighty ax and clad in nothing more than boots upon his feet, a thong about his loins and a muzzle over his mouth. I immediately felt that my harness protected my modest better than this beast. I also wondered if he were just a beast as he seemed, or if there was within his mind any desire to be greater than what he was.

"Oi! Golem!" I shouted at him.

"What?" he growled back angrily.

"I need your help," I said, but knew immediately that I had spoken wrong.

"Begone, you scum!" he retorted.

I drew out my sword and cracked it like a whip over his head, then walked out towards him, trying my best to appear aloof, intimidating and haughty before this disgusting mass of muscle.

"I can command this sword to cut you to pieces faster than you could swing that ax at me," I said, looking at the huge weapon in his hand. It was like something of biblical proportions, that weapon, its head the length of my leg from the hip down and the staff at least six feet tall or more.

"What do you want, b*tch?" the golem growled at me. I should have been insulted, but at least he was being pliable. I would have to take the insults if I wanted his help, because I could see in his blank, colorless eyes a smoldering hatred for all things human, or of anyone or anything that tried to dominate him. He could easily become a liability, and I knew that his only lord was the Azure Knight.

"I left many of my things in my carriage on the edge of the valley," I said. "I want you to bring them to the chapel for me."

"I am no slave!"

"Do it, or we'll see just how useful the Azure Knight finds you without your arms or legs," I threatened, flashing the beast a cheeky smile. If he believed that I cared little for his life, he would perhaps be more apt to obeying my wishes.

And he did. While I walked back to the chapel, waiting for Astaroth's return, I wondered, as I had before, if this beast was indeed truly living and conscious. At once it seemed outrageous and even despicable to entertain the thought, yet as I examined his behavior, I knew that, though he cared for no one or nothing, it mattered to him if he lived or not. Perhaps there was _some_thing within him that was not fully constructed, that was more than a dumb brute. But I reasoned that it was not worth trying to reveal. This beast had a violent temper and trying to reason with it seemed to be asking for him to take that ax to me. It didn't matter, for the Azure Knight needed him and that was enough for me.

* * *

Over the weeks that followed, we met every night in the courtyard of the castle. Astaroth and Aeon Calcos would bring dead bodies into the courtyard and the Azure Knight would lead me in the ritual of summoning the souls. The spells I chanted were strange ones, in tongues I had never heard of before: I could feel the magic about this place, and it made my skin crawl. Nevertheless, the lord assured me that all would be well in the end. It would be worth it, to see my Father again.

During the day, I kept to myself in the chapel. Its roof had collapsed and a huge portion of the chapel proper had fallen into the river, but it was in decent repair. The rectory, which was beneath the chapel proper, I turned into my bedroom and laboratory. I read my books and delved into dark, terrible things, which would have made the former owners of this chapel cringe and hold their crucifixes in fear. It mattered not to me. The keep belonged to the Azure Knight, and part of me did not wish to live in a place that was being befouled nightly by corpses.

I could have realized that something more was going on, yet I had intentionally sealed my mind to any fears or suspicions. It would all be worth it in the end, I told myself, and believed it as well. That was all.

But to say that, because I had no suspicions of what we did here, I became as debased as Astaroth would be quite the lie. _I_ was still human, and the weather of this castle, Ostrheinsburg, was starting to take its toll. Weeks in darkness made me sensitive to light, and nightly rituals among the dead made me stink all the more. I determined that I would have to bathe, and soon. I had become attached to bathing and could now feel when I had not done so, and it was not pleasant at all.

So it was that, one day, I paused from my work and walked up the stone staircase to the chapel. Carefully I made my way down to the foot of the isle, where the river Danube - as I learned it was through map-reading while here - flowed about the isles on which Ostrheinsburg had been built. As I began to unbuckle the straps of my harness, I thought I heard a stone fall into the water nearby. I pulled my sword out of the sheath I made for it on my thigh and pointed it about me.

"Come out, now," I ordered. "You can't hide from me now."

I heard a sound like the hissing of a snake, and then there appeared from out of a clump of bushes the Lizardman, Aeon Calcos. I smirked cheekily at him.

"Watching me bathe, were you?" I taunted. "I thought you of all people would know the consequences of happening upon a woman while she bathes."

The beast growled, then gestured with one of his talons towards the keep upon the larger island. He then walked bow-legged towards the edge of the water and leaped in. His head popped out of the water and he waved at me, gesturing as though I should follow him. I laughed.

"No thank you," I retorted. "I'll walk, if it's all the same to you."

The Lizardman made a cooing sound that would have seemed like pouting from anyone else, but did not insist. It knew as well as I did that if I swam as he had suggested, I would have to leave my harness behind: no sense ruining it in the river. While I didn't exactly have any qualms about modesty, I wasn't in the market for losing my maidenhead to a dragon-man. Beast though he might have been, he was still once a man, as the Azure Knight had told me.

I took the bridge to the main island, then walked down to the edge of the island, where the Lizardman had appeared. With him were several others like him, but as different as one human to another (though I think that Astaroth could not tell one human from another). I looked at him with a quizzical expression, and saw him gesture to a tunnel in the side of the wall.

"You want me to go in there?" I asked, raising a single eyebrow in a quizzical expression of disbelief. Aeon, the lead Lizardman, nodded. "Fine, but if you or your lackeys try anything, I can command my sword to emasculate you all in a quick, single blow."

The Lizardmen took a step back, hissing or barring their fangs at me. I cared not. Let them hate me, as long as they feared me. Aeon led the way into the tunnel, and I followed after him. The tunnel was low-hanging, so I had to bend over, which was hardly enjoyable for me, what with my heavy chest hanging down and my rear exposed to these fiendish lizards. Half-way through, I turned back and drew my sword, to make them know that I was not available. They seemed to have taken my threats to heart.

At the end of the tunnel was a storeroom that had long since been looted and plundered. Most of the barrels had been shattered and lay about in pieces, but one huge one, at least seven feet deep and five feet wide, lay intact against the side of the wall. It must have been used for beer, from the smell of it, but it had long since been emptied. Looking at it, I deemed that it could possibly be used to make a bathtub. It was at that moment that I quietly thanked Aeon Calcos for sneaking up on me as he had. I no longer felt safe bathing in the Danube with his lizardmen swimming about in it, so I decided to find an abandoned room later and use it for my bathing needs.

* * *

**(AN: I know Astaroth and Aeon are like Frankenstein's monster and a walking Greek tragedy, I purposefully had Ivy feel detached from them, which will bring her closer to the Azure Knight. It's important.)**

**(Next chapter is gonna have something rather interesting, so please don't leave [and please review. Don't forbear because I ask you to, I enjoy hearing your reviews. It keeps me going, so don't stop])  
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	13. The Azure Knight

**(AN: While I usually shy away from making ships just for the sake of making ships [sorry if you're like that], I made Ivy/Nightmare, which I don't think anyone else has done [I haven't seen any on here, at least]. It's not just for voyeurism, but has significance to the development of Ivy, as you shall soon see. Maybe not in this chapter, but you shall see it.)  
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**(Also, and I don't think I got this across enough in _Siegfried_, but, in _Soulcalibur_, Siegfried and Nightmare, though they are the same person, are both separate characters. What I was hinting at was that it was the whole Jekyll and Hyde thing, but never had occasion to present that physically. Maybe mentally, he's capable of being Siegfried, while still bound to the body of the Azure Knight. I hope to get that across in this story, especially how Ivy refers to him as the only other human in Ostrheinsburg)  
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* * *

**The Azure Knight**

I had never had any strong feelings for anyone other than my family for a long while. But that changed during my time at Ostrheinsburg. This is how it all came to an end, and how I learned the horrible secret that haunts me still to this very day.

My plan to bathe went off well enough, and I had brought the barrel, cut in half by my sword, into a little-used room in the keep. I lined it with a sheet, then brought water in buckets from the river to the room and filled the barrel. The water was cold, so I conjured a small fire to warm the waters, then removed my harness and stepped into my bath. It brought back sensual memories of my time in the _hamam_ of Constantinople, and I bathed myself without a care in the world. For all I knew, I was alone and free to do as I pleased. I kicked my feet in the tub for sheer joy. No one else was around and I didn't have to bear myself in any particular way.

But it seemed too good to last for long, and eventually I heard the sound of plate armor clanking against itself. I rose from the tub and saw the Azure Knight standing in the open door, looking in my direction.

"My lord!" I greeted, nodding an informal bow in his direction.

Silence fell between us. I looked at the red eyes of the Azure Knight and noticed that he was looking at me, or rather that he was looking at my body. Of course I was naked, I wouldn't bother washing myself in my leather harness or in any of my dresses. But the look I saw in those eyes made me think that this seemingly powerful lord was truly human, or at least truly a man. He was drinking in my body with his eyes, and I could sense even in those red, seemingly inhuman, eyes that he was pleased. I didn't raise my arms to hide my breasts from his eyes.

"Do you like what you see?" I asked cheekily, casting a quick glance down to my own body. I had never thought myself very beautiful. Aside from my hips and my bosom, I was very thin: not exactly the icon of beauty in my homeland, or even here in the German states. While obviously I knew that I could use my revealing harness to take control of the battle into my own hands, what I saw in his eyes was not the kind of lust that I saw in the eyes of those bedazzled by my harness. He was looking on me with awe, as though he had never seen a woman's body before, and, dare I say it, with worshipful reverence.

"You're not ashamed?" the lord asked. It seemed like an odd retort.

"If I cared about modesty as much as everyone else," I replied, nodding to my harness, lying in a forsaken heap on the floor. "I wouldn't bother with that, would I?"

He asked me what I was doing, which was understandable. Bathing was not something well accepted in the West, and it must have seemed strange to have a grown woman immersing herself in water. Nevertheless, I had cleansed myself and there was no further reason to remain unclad. I rose out of the tub, revealing my full body to my lord, then slowly walked over to my harness. For some reason that I, to this day, can never properly articulate, I asked him to come over and help me get into my harness. I even pursed my lips playfully at him.

He agreed. After I slid back into my harness, I turned my back to him and let him fasten me in. He fastened me in so hard that, for a moment, it hurt. Surprisingly, I did not cry out much, but seemed to relish this exquisite pain. For a moment he halted, but I urged him on. He was my lord and he should not be afraid to assert himself over his servants. Once he was done, I thanked him and turned to leave, when I heard him calling my name back to me.

"Back there," he said to me. "When I was fastening you up, I caused you hurt, but you sounded like you were enjoying it."

"Don't you?" I began. "Pain is a natural part of life. Birth is pain, life is pain and at last we die in pain. It is nothing unnatural, and those who shun pain are only lying to themselves. Only by embracing pain do we become stronger. My father taught me that lesson many years ago, and it has always remained true ever since."

Silence passed between us once again.

"You are English, right?" the Azure Knight asked.

"My...family was once one of the most distinguished houses in London." I replied.

"Who then do you serve?" he asked me again.

"I serve you, my lord," I bowed. "You gave life to my sword, which has protected me all throughout my trials. My life belongs to you."

For a moment, I saw the Azure Knight look me in the eyes and for a moment, they were no longer red. What looked back at me were two eyes that seemed blue-green, like the sea beneath the mid-day sun. When he spoke, the voice seemed different, and yet was coming from the mouth of my lord.

"What do you believe in?" he asked me.

I raised my eyebrow, as I had to Aeon. "I believe that pain is a natural part of life," quoth I. "And I believe in loyalty, and duty. But if you mean whether I believe in God...I'm a witch, my lord. Protestants and Catholics alike damn my kind to Hell. There is no comfort for me in their beliefs...no comfort for heretics and witches." I saw him try to apologize, but I lifted my hand and placed it upon the visor of my lord's helmet, where his lips should have been.

"No, don't apologize." I began, then stepped back and prostrated before him. "You are powerful, my lord, and power means never having to say you're sorry."

The Azure Knight nodded and dismissed me. I rose, keeping my eyes averted. Even still, I could feel his eyes looking down on my breast-plate. For a moment, I wondered what had happened to his eyes. It seemed like a sincere moment, as though, for a moment, he could be himself around me, and not the powerful lord that he was before the others. Once on my feet, I turned about and walked away slowly, letting my hips sway gently as I left. I felt genuinely blessed, to see my lord as he was, and know that _that_ side of him was for me and for me alone.

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**(AN: So, what do you think?)**

**(If you've read _Siegfried_, I intend on dragging this "ship" out a little bit. After all, what we saw in _Siegfried_ was only how it affected him, but this is Ivy's story, and she needs more time with him.)  
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**(Remember to review, I've had a lot of updates recently and won't get to do as many until Wednesday, so you've got lots to read and plenty of chapters to review.)  
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	14. Walking Away

**(AN: Remember what I said about Jekyll and Hyde? Here is one of the moments where Siegfried wins out over the Azure Knight and is the one in charge. But he's still mostly under the control of Soul Edge, so he won't be all remorseful over what he's done.)  
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* * *

**Walking Away**

The day went on without any interruptions and I retired to my chamber. I was left alone with my thoughts, and I pondered on what had transpired. I had seen a side of my lord that I had never seen before, an innocent side of him that missed the company of other humans. I filled that void and he enjoyed my company, even when I was clothed. I wondered if that was how things went with men and women, that the one loved the other and the other had to learn to love the one. Maybe love had nothing to do with how men and women were joined. I never asked my parents if they loved me, and it was then that I realized just how much I missed them, how much I had missed out with them, and how, by aiding the Azure Knight, I could have again the chance to speak with them. My resolve was strengthened even more by the realization of this truth.

In the morning, when I awoke, clad in a crisp white slip, I found a note lying on top of one of my trunks. I pried it open and read from it: it was an invitation from the Azure Knight for me to attend dinner with him. The English was messy and sounded rather silly, but I supposed that he wasn't a native speaker, nor writer thereof. Nevertheless, this proved my point, that he was indeed human and missed the company of other humans. Such an invitation would be meaningless to be sent to Astaroth or Aeon. The golem ate nothing and, as I feared from the beginning, Aeon ate raw flesh: not exactly proper dinner guests.

As the day wore on, I buried myself in my studies. The note said that there would be no ritual this night, yet I was determined to be prepared for the next day, when there would be another ritual. I had only two dresses, the pale violet one and the black one. As my lord was clad in dark blue and the castle very dark, I decided to wear the violet dress. I knew he had seen my other dress and wanted him to see this one. Beneath it, of course, I wore my harness. I had no perfumes or starches for my ruff, so I wore nothing upon my neck.

The hour of five, when our dinner would be held, I examined the chapel once again. While I lived in it, I never saw anyone ringing the bell, yet it never missed a single hour. There was no way I could detect who or what was tolling the bell, yet it tolled on regardless. As I heard the first tolling of the bell, I picked up my skirt and hastened down the stairs and across the bridge. Through the doors of the keep I went, with deftness on my heeled boots. Twenty-eight years in heels had given me great skill in walking briskly in them.

I pushed open the doors of the great meeting room described in the letter and found it surprisingly empty. I heaved a sigh of relief, fearing that I had been late and offended my host. I took a seat at the long wooden table, unclad in anything save for a tablecloth that was strangely lumped, and waited for a minute or two. At last, I could hear the clanking of armor and rose to my feet. From the other end of the room, through the opened door, the Azure Knight appeared. Most of his armor had been removed, save for the greaves of his legs. He wore a gray doublet and his hair, flaming red, hung down upon his shoulders unbound.

"Isabella," he said to me as he saw me sitting there. "You're here. I'm very pleased."

"My lord!" I rose from where I stood.

"Nay, sit down," he told me. He then sat down at the head of the table. "I'm afraid I have come unprepared. I was led to believe that..."

"What, that my only habit was the harness?" I asked, then chuckled lightly.

"Does what I say amuse you?" he asked.

"Only your assumption," I continued, averting my eyes. "It would be rather improper to be caught in public with nothing but a leather harness."

"A pity," he said. "I should like to have seen it again. Oh well, it matters not. The food is ready."

He lifted the tablecloth from off the wooden table and revealed the feast that we were to enjoy. It was by far not the best meal I have had, but it was certainly enjoyable. I had brought my own food from Constantinople, and while it was still lasting, it was good to eat things more substantial than dried fruit, salted meats and hard cheese. I felt truly merry at heart as I ate, as I had not felt since my bath. But while I drank from the wine that was present, I saw that my lord was not eating or drinking.

"Are you well, my lord?"

"Yes," he replied, though I discerned that his mood had somehow changed.

"You do not eat, why is that?"

"This meal was prepared for you," he told me. "I have no heart for anything but our ritual."

"We shall double our efforts the eve of the morrow, my lord," I assured him.

"For your sake, I hope so," he stated.

"My lord, something troubles you," I noted aloud. "Please, speak."

But he said nothing. We ate on in silence, and after I had finished my food, with nothing coming to mind yet, I decided to speak to him again. I asked him about his past, yet he was rightfully quiet. He was still the lord and I his servant, and I was only here at his fancy. When, at last, there seemed to be nothing more to speak, I prepared to dismiss myself, but the lord rose up, left hand raised.

"Wait a moment," he said. Slowly he walked toward me, so close was he now that I could see his eyes. For a moment, they seemed both blue-green and red simultaneously. I curtseyed before him, then rose when he commanded me. I looked into his eyes again and saw what he was longing to see.

"I am your servant," I replied with a playful smirk. "Order it. Command me."

"Show me your harness." he said slowly.

I smirked again, and began to undress before my lord. Once my dress was lying upon the floor, I turned slowly around so that he may see all of me in my harness. It seemed strange, suddenly, for him to ask this of me. But he was my lord and I wanted him to use the power he had, not simply to remain locked away in his keep.

"Perhaps some other time, my lord," I said, bowing again. For some reason, I left without taking my dress with me. I walked away as I had before, teasing him as I had before. He had what he wanted and I enjoyed playing with him. But for a moment, I wondered if he would ever open up to me. I had shown him my body, the least he could do was show me his mind. As I left, I began to quake with fear. For one moment, as we stood so close to each other, I thought I could faintly see a face looming out of the darkness, as it were coming out of my lord's face. It was an older face, wearing a beard and mustache. He seemed proud of himself, or of what he had captured.

* * *

**(AN: See? I make my ships progress the story along. Yay!)**

**(Once again, please review. This chapter, while kind of fillery, sets us up for what we will see in the next two chapters. Also, I kind of have a thing where I feel that around the sixteenth or seventeenth chapter of a story, something significant should happen. I'm building up for that, and hopefully this chapter was enjoyable.)  
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	15. The Old Man

**(AN: Well, Ivy, you're about to get your wish. But are you gonna like what you get? Well, we shall soon see.)  
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* * *

**The Old Man**

I spent the night in terrible dreams, nightmares of that pale face leering out of the darkness at me, laughing and taunting me. I had never seen this face before, yet it disturbed me so. I wanted to be rid of it, yet it was strangely alluring. I had no sleep and when I woke the next morning, or whatever the grey hours after the black hours were called in this endless darkness, I discovered that I had fallen asleep in my harness.

Without another thought, I ran back to the keep and began searching the grounds. Eventually I learned that my dress had been confiscated by the lizardmen and torn apart. That knowledge was learned later that day, but what was significant was when I came in contact with the Azure Knight again. While I walked about the grounds, in search of my dress, I heard a loud explosion, like a cannon going off. I ran to the walls but saw no assault coming from any side. With a shrug I continued on, slowly, as I was still clad and in no rush. As I entered the courtyard, I heard the Azure Knight call out my name.

"My lord," I greeted him with a bow. "We seem to often find ourselves running into each other." I turned my back to him, looking over my shoulder cheekily and said: "You like seeing me walk away, do you?"

We both laughed, and it felt good. It was an honest moment, and in what was apparently daylight. I felt more at peace around him than I had in a long count of days. He led me to the wall, where we talked idly about this and that. He mentioned that we were the only humans - his damn helmet and visor were down, which felt like a screen between him and I, detaching us somehow - in Ostrheinsburg, and showed me the land about the castle. Strangely enough, he asked me if I were disgusted by what I saw. I told him that there was no truth in beauty, that I used my own beauty as an advantage against my enemies. When I said this, he replied with the strangest question.

"So when the time is right, you'll un-man me, I take it."

It was not a question, more of a statement of fact. But I did not _want_ to believe that this could ever happen. I bowed before him, expressing my undying fealty to him and reminding him that his power gave life to my sword, the Ivy blade, which I had taken to christening with my own surname, and that I would never dare to raise my hand against him.

In that moment, I saw the face again, the face that had haunted my nightmares and robbed me of sleep. I could feel things as well, feelings that I knew were not my own. At this moment, I was abashed that I had mentioned my fighting style to him, for it made him think that I would turn against him, as the spider her mate. But I felt other emotions, the lust for freedom, a life without laws, and a love of the sea. The face was smiling brazenly, in defiance of me, methought first.

My lord ordered me to stand. The vision passed and I stood as he had instructed. He sighed and walked towards the north wall of the castle. I could sense that I was not the only one who had troubles on my heart. I asked him what it was, and he replied that it was just a memory, one he wished would go away. I insisted, speaking to him tenderly as I believed was beyond my ability. But he spoke at last. To this day I wish he hadn't: it would have made things so much easier.

"My father was murdered four years ago," he said. "Right before my very eyes."

"Death comes to us all, my lord," I replied, harder than usual. Perhaps I was trying to hide how I truly felt, even then.

"I was betrayed," the Azure Knight said. "Lied to by those I trusted. When I discovered the truth, it was too late. That is the reason for this ceremony: I seek to call back my father from the dead, to right the wrongs done to me."

In that moment, my heart softened. I understood why he did what he did, and not only did it seem reasonable, but it struck a chord in my own heart. I was moved by his affection for his father, for it mirrored my own and seemed to be giving silent consent to what I was doing. In that moment, I challenged everything I had once believed about courtship. In that moment, I loved my lord.

I told him my whole story, of the loss of my own Father, of my mother succumbing to grief and of my desire to see my Father again. At that moment, if the Devil himself had appeared and offered to return my Father back to me in exchange for my soul, I would have agreed to his bargain. I told him about the sword he had given me and how it had saved my life countless times. Out of both curiosity and a strange desire to be close to my lord, I reached out and placed my hand on his right arm. It was cold and clammy, like the flesh of a serpent, yet my hands grew accustomed to the subtle ridges and grooves, as well as the gnarled and spiked growths protruding from the shoulder, elbow and wrist. My hands, so small in comparison to his right hand, gripped one of the fingers of his hand.

"I am forever grateful," I said to him.

But in that moment, the vision returned to me, only stronger and more profound than it had been before. There was a battle at sea, the acrid stench of gunpowder filled the salty air, blood was splattered upon the wooden planks. A tall figure, clad in the garb of a privateer, had claimed the ship. His men brought forth several large crates. He burst through one of them and lifted out two swords, one a foot long, the other two feet. The face then turned towards me and my blood froze.

The face was the face that had haunted my nightmares.

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**(AN: I bet you can guess whose face that is, and where I'm going with this. By the next chapter, things will be getting _really_ good, and you'll see part of the main reason for this OTP [i guess that's the right acronym for it])**

**(Hope I haven't scared you away. There haven't been any reviews! Come on, don't be shy!)  
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	16. Secrets

**(AN: One of my biggest qualms about shipping in an epic story like _Soulcalibur_ or _Lord of the Rings_ is that it just seems...out of place. But I made this important to Ivy's progression as a character, so it has to be said.)  
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* * *

**Secrets**

There are some things a lady must never openly discuss. However, I am hardly a proper lady. My actions were done according to my own wisdom at the time. While it is easy to stand on the sidelines and say how I should have done things, I did as I saw fit. Had things gone differently, I know not what greater evils I might have done ere I learned the truth, if I would learn it at all. While I do not take pride in what I did, I do not regret the actions I took. Moreover, what happened was important to my own discovery, and so I shall share some details of what went on that night.

The days passed as one long period of darkness, one into the other. I saw little of the Azure Knight. Sometimes I would seek him throughout the keep, but there would be no trace of him. The armor would be gone, his sword gone, everything that bespoke of his presence would not be there. I asked the others, but they said or knew nothing. I wished to talk to him about the visions I was having, yet he never seemed to be about. I was starting to grow concerned, as his scarcity grew and grew, until I became the only human at Ostrheinsburg.

One evening, I finally found him, kneeling atop the north tower. I approached slowly for, as I looked upon him from the rear, I saw that the hair that flowed from out of his helmet was golden blond, rather than red. He noticed my approach, stood up and turned about. There was no denying it was the same person: no mistaking those eyes, fading constantly from red to blue-green.

"My lord," I began. For a moment I wanted to speak my mind about the visions, but instead another topic came to mind. "I have not expressed my gratitude towards your lordship for allowing me to stay here, at your expense." He nodded silently. "I'm extremely grateful for your hospitality, my lord, although... I don't know how to say it." I sighed, feeling weak and feeble for being unable to speak my mind. There were no secrets betwixt us - or so I thought - and I felt that I could tell him anything.

I took a step closer and my tongue loosened long enough to continue speaking. "I feel as though you are the only one who truly understands me. You gave life to my sword, you've given my life purpose: I have not even begun to repay you for all that you've done for me."

"Please, it's nothing." quoth my lord.

"No, my lord, it is everything!" I replied. "You have no idea what my life is like." I turned my gaze outwards, into the gathering darkness and the deepening gloom. It was black and hopeless, just like my future. For as we spoke, I pondered on what would happen after our work here would be completed. Seeing my Father again would not change how _I_ was, nor would it improve my station in life or bring back the honor, prestige and wealth of the Valentine family. Though I thought myself strong, capable of living alone until I finally died, being around my lord, the Azure Knight, made me realize just what I would be missing if I lived out the rest of my life in solitude. It broke my heart.

"I'm twenty-eight years old," I said. "A hopeless old maid fit for nothing more than a nunnery or a spinster. The noblemen of England would never have me because my family is ruined, and those outside of England don't want an old woman for their wife. I'm useless to their world, but I refuse to simply sit down and wait for death."

I do not know why I spoke my mind thus. I had no fear of living alone, and if I did, it was very small and not as poignant as my words made it seem. I am not given to being such a petulant churl, yet something was opened as I spoke to him. I turned to my lord, the only human in this God-forsaken valley, the only one who truly empathized with me.

"But you, my lord, you gave me a reason to live." With trembling, I placed a hand upon his shoulder. He asked if this was genuine, reminding me of my foolish words about 'un-manning' men. I came to regret them in my heart and told him aloud that my loyalty was to him. I then asked to see his face. While he had gone without a mask at the dinner table, it was dark and the lone candle upon the table kept me from seeing his face properly. Slowly, however, he removed his helmet and I saw his face for the first time. His skin was dark, as dark as the flesh of his right arm, and his eyes were yellowish-red, like fire, though they would, ofttimes, become blue-green. He was young yet handsome.

For a moment that seemed to last forever, we were closer to each other than I had ever before been to a man. My head was swimming, though not out of the overwhelming passion of simpering girls and their lurid fantasies. I was a woman, and believed myself in control of my feelings. Yet my head swam, nonetheless, with images of that old man. Something had changed about him, though. He was more fierce-some, more threatening. Then I saw his eyes look directly at me and heard him speak to me.

_Return! Return to me..._

That voice chilled my blood and made me shiver. I was afraid, more afraid than I had ever been in a long count of years. I could feel in my very soul that this face wanted nothing but harm out of me. I tried to shut my mind, remembering spells of clarity I had memorized long ago: all of them were to no avail. His face seemed to permeate everything. In that moment, I had a thought...

_What if I kissed him? What would happen if I did? How horrible could it be? Could it perhaps save me from..._

Slowly I moved toward him, my lips tense. I dared not close my eyes, or else the old man's hideous face would return. Suddenly I felt my lord's dry, chafed lips against my own. I was suddenly overwhelmed by something I thought I was above: pure, raw emotion. I was warm throughout my body, my fingers trembled as they wrapped around his head and against my will, my eyes slid closed.

The old man's face was there no more.

* * *

Call me what you will, but what I did next was not wholly motivated by wanton lusts. I was plagued by this awful visage, and it seemed to go away when I was intimately close to my lord. Strangely enough, though, it would come when I was close to him as well, close but not intimate. I had heard of men raping virgins to prove their masculinity: if they could use women for their own ends, then I could use my lord as well. It was a delightful thought that I was actually using my lord, my powerful lord who had given me so much; it made me the master of him if only for a while.

He led me to a room that had been used by the previous owner. We took turns removing my lord's armor, then I removed my harness and stood before him, naked and unashamed.

"You never answered my question, my lord." I asked, as I removed my gloves.

"Which?" he asked.

"Do you like what you see?" I repeated. "Are you pleased by your servant? Am I beautiful?"

I could see the blue-green light rise in his eyes as he stammered over his next words, calling me _very_ beautiful. Verily, my heart _did_ melt with those words, but I tried to keep my head as I wrapped my arms about him and pressed my lips to his again. I pulled away and lay back on the bed, offering my body to my lord as though I were a sacrifice.

Propriety demands that I share not all the details of what happened. To hell with propriety! My lord explored my body, drinking in the sight of me as though I were a goddess. It felt good, I shall not lie, and for a moment, I was at peace. No foul images in my head, the old man seemed to have gone. Then, as if it were not enough, I began to see his face again and more besides. He was staggering into a tavern, being shouted at by a woman in what sounded like Catalan Spanish. I had to keep myself stimulated, I _had_ to be rid of this hideous old man. I looked at my lord and noticed that he wasn't looking at me, but at his codpiece.

"If you want to do that," I said, smiling cheekily. "I must be on top."

We switched positions and I removed his codpiece with ease. Nevertheless, the vision was starting to grow more vivid, as though it were real and this moment with my lord was not. As I looked upon my lord, I felt my legs quiver and feared what would happen next. I was yet a virgin, yet I knew the ways of men and women. But the vision was growing stronger, the old man was shouting angrily at the Spaniard woman, and an uneasy feeling was growing in my heart. I looked at my lord, eager to be rid of these visions, no matter the cost.

"Be as rough as you want, my lord." I whispered. "Remember, pain is only natural."

It was painful at first, but I relished the sharp pain that occurred as we bonded at the loins. The vision started to grow more and more faint, and I rode my lord fiercely, savoring the freedom I had finally achieved. The face was disappearing, the tavern was starting to evaporate back into the ether: there was only us, and that was enough. It was worth any pain. I enjoyed every minute of this, I must shamefully admit. I summoned all my strength, eager to keep this agonizing ecstasy ongoing, I wanted to _never_ see the old man ever again.

But at last, as my hips were shaking violently and I was crying out more than I had ever done before, I could feel sleep falling over my eyes. I tried to keep awake, clawing at my lord, eager to keep him awake. He was a man, he would want to have as much of me as he could, _he_ could keep me awake and force the demons from my mind. But he seemed to be as tired as I was and could not keep me awake. I fell on top of him, my breasts pressing into his powerfully built chest, and my eyes slowly started to close.

* * *

"More wine!" the old man shouted.

"You've had more than enough as it is, _cabró_!" a woman spoke.

I had not seen the woman before. Her voice was deep, her hair dark brown, and her eyes were blue. She wore the clothes of a commoner, but her chest seemed a bit larger than most other women. As I looked at her, I could feel my heart drawn out to her in a strange way. She was just a commoner, working this tavern to make ends meet, and here was that hideous old man, harassing her for more wine late at night.

"Don't make me come over there!" growled the old man.

The woman sighed, then poured a tankard with wine and brought it before the old man. I could see his eyes glaring over her body, especially her hips. The way they moved, even their size, was strangely familiar. I felt personally incensed when I saw the old man slap her buttocks as though she were a slave.

"Watch your hands, _puto_!" she returned angrily.

The old man rose to his feet, and I suddenly became fearful for the young woman. She had no way of defending herself, and he was quite tall and seemingly very strong. She stepped back in fear. I tried to shout, to cry out, to beg her to run, but I had no voice.

"You bark loud, little wench!" the old man leered lecherously at the woman.

When she slapped him, I felt happy. He got no more than he deserved, though obviously much less. But then he struck her with his fist, leaving her eye blackened and bruised. She ran, but he gave pursuit, calling her all sorts of foul names in as many languages as he knew. She ran, but he threw a chair at her, and she crumbled to the floor. He was suddenly upon her, lifting her up by her hair and throwing her against the bar. I watched in horror as he tore open her skirt, removed his codpiece and forced himself into her. She screamed, she kicked and clawed at him, she prayed to God for deliverance, but all it did was make that wicked man smile and laugh.

"That's right, you wench!" he growled, placing a hand around her neck. "Scream! God's not gonna save you now!"

I will never forget the look of helplessness on her face. Her screams echo in my dreams even to this day.

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**(AN: I am a man, and while I'm a virgin, I know how sex works. I also try to write women in my fics as equal to men as the historical and cultural settings allow. But it baffles me how women can feel any sort of enjoyment from it. It makes no sense. Also, instead of having just a sex scene [hopefully safe enough for M yet explained thoroughly enough for those who want such], she wants it because it means she could escape the awful visions. So in a way, she uses him [lol])**

**(Anyone guess how those are happening? Also, those visions are needful for a certain upcoming revelation to hit home for her.)  
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**(There shouldn't be any more really graphic stuff in this story, just blood, gore and [maybe] language. If that scared you, sorry. When I make an M-rated story, I go all out [see _Tira_]. Please review)  
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	17. Unblessed Soul

**(AN: Now we've come to the good part of the story, so I hope the last chapter didn't turn you off to what we've got so far. I swear what she saw is important.)  
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**(Furthermore, I know that she swore a vow of chastity, and I have NOT forsaken that. I know it seems odd, but just bear with me. Though it may take twenty more chapters or less, I'll still stick with the established canon.)  
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* * *

**Unblessed Soul**

I awoke in a cold sweat, but sheer weariness threw me back to sleep. I remember very little else, save that my dreams were haunted by the cries of that woman, and the mocking laughter of the old man. I felt that I could no longer have peace, when I heard his voice in my head. It was an awful experience, and it made me feel foolish. Why in God's name did I think I would _not_ see the old man's face by sleeping with my lord, in whose presence I precisely _saw_ the old man's face?

When I awoke in truth, I saw my lord sitting on the side of the bed. I caressed his back with my hand, but he did not reply immediately.

"No one must ever know of this night," he said to me.

For a moment I paused in wonder. Why keep this a secret? Of course, the obvious thing would be that his other servants - Astaroth and the Lizardman - would likely see it as favoritism and come after me. A disorderly group fell apart quickly, I knew that and my lord, as he was no fool, knew that as well. But, for me, I also agreed with him. I wanted to never again think of or even try to remember the horrible things I saw the night after our intercourse.

"As you wish, my lord," I said seductively. I knew how to please him.

"Go get your clothes," he told me. "Tonight, the final ritual shall commence. The dead shall be called forth ere the bell tolls of midnight."

I suddenly became aware of how joyous I was inside. At last, the moment I had waited for was upon me. I would see my Father again and be rid of this quest to destroy Soul Edge. I wondered why I was here, sometimes: it seemed like I had reached a dead end with my search. But tonight, all that would change. I sat up in the bed, crawled over to my lord and wrapped my arms about him, pressing my bosom against his firm back.

"You..." he paused, then responded very stoically. "...please me."

I moaned softly. "So be it."

Without another word, I pulled myself out, climbed off the bed and began strapping my harness back in place. For a moment, I looked back at my lord, then noticed a small blood stain upon the bed. For a moment I feared the worst and reached a hand down to my loins, but sighed when I found that it was not serious. All I saw was what was left of my maidenhead.

* * *

Nightfall. I was upon the walls of the castle, looking out at the black clouds overhead. I could feel the skin on my arms rise in anticipation. All was about to be done: the ritual would be completed, my lord would see his father and I would see my Father again. I would tell him to forsake the path of Soul Edge, and we would go home together to live out our lives in peace. Everything I had been working towards was going to happen. Notwithstanding, I felt strangely anxious, as though this were a night of fearful portents.

We were summoned to the courtyard, all three of us, before the presence of the Azure Knight. I was hoping that he was about to commence the ritual, but he told us a different story. Four warriors from the East were coming to this place, eager to stop the ritual. It could not be completed unless they were first dealt with. Astaroth was sent back to the dungeons, while I went back to the walls, scanning the horizon for any sign of intruders. All was quiet, save for the rumbling of distant thunder. The storm increased my fear that something was about to happen.

Suddenly, I heard cries in the courtyard. I turned and ran thither, but my large breasts made running quite difficult, not to mention my heeled boots. I paused, angry at my body for being unable to do much of anything, then a thought came to mind. I drew my sword from the sheath and thrust outward.

"Go there!" I shouted. The sword's blades detached into dozens of shimmering blade-shards, then flew like daggers towards the courtyard. I followed as best I could and made my way to my lord's side, where he was protected by a shield of spinning blades from my sword. "You shall not stand alone, my lord!" I told him, then summoned my sword back into a solid blade before turning to the two people before my lord.

They were children. There was a young boy, dressed in the habits of a monk, with a very long quarter-staff. Behind him cowered a knock-kneed young girl, whimpering and whining as she held a thin blue sword in her hands. I laughed at how ridiculous these two were and how foolish of them to think they could actually fight my lord.

"Get lost!" I told them. "This is no place for children!" The monk entered a fighting stance, and after taunting him about his rod, I commanded my sword to become a whirlwind of razor-sharp blades. Like a swarm of bees, the blades of my sword rained down upon him and to my horror, he spun his staff about, deflecting the blades. I snarled at them, encircling them like a cat as she plays with two cornered mice who have not long to live.

"So, you want to play, holy man?" I said. "Very well, but I warn you: I always play rough."

Following my silent thought, my sword gathered again into a loose whip, which I cracked about them in warning. This seemed to be enough, for they started giving ground. I egged them on, yet they gave ground. Commanding my sword into shards again, I ordered it onward, and the swarm flew upon the two children. The young boy was taking hits and one almost hit the young girl when a small dagger struck it, deflecting it to the ground. A figure clad in red leaped between the children and myself. I ordered the sword to return as I faced the newcomer.

It was a woman, dressed in a skin-tight leotard of either cloth or leather. She had jet black hair and the look similar to those of the East. The first thing I noticed, apart from her clothing, was her chest: it was large, almost as large as my own. But that jump she made, and the stance she took once she faced me, amazed me to no end. How could one with such ample endowments be so lithe on their feet?

"Well aren't we cheeky?" I mocked.

The assassin spoke in a strange language to the children, and then she attacked me. She moved so fast that it seemed I was fighting for my life just to keep myself from being cut by her knives. Unfortunately, it wasn't fast enough and I felt the wind knocked out of me as she kicked my stomach with her knee. Surprising me again, she flipped backwards, then turned towards me.

"Your stance," she said to me in English. "I recognize it. So much like his."

I whipped my sword at her, and it became a whip, which struck out at her. To my surprise, she grabbed the blade between her fingers. Did she feel no pain? Or was she so fast that she could grab the blade without injuring herself?

"And just whose stance do I remind you of, oriental?" I replied.

"You're his servant," she replied. "You're blind to whatever I would say. Fight me, then! I'm through with words!"

"If that's the way you want it..." I smirked, straining at the chain between us that was the blade of my sword. I whispered the spell beneath my breath, and my sword suddenly became shards of glowing steel. I almost laughed as I saw the woman assassin try to run away from my attack, but held my tongue as I saw it would have been premature. She was fast, faster than anyone I had ever encountered. The blades of my sword flew at her, and she deflected them with the vambraces on her wrists.

"Return!" I commanded, and the blades returned into a solid piece. The assassin charged at me again, and I lashed at her with my sword, now turned into a whip, but she grabbed the blade again. We were now at great tension, the assassin trying to pull the sword out of my hand and I trying to bring her down.

"Talk!" I ordered. "Tell me what you know!"

"I know a great deal," the woman replied. "Especially about you."

"What do you know about me?"

"I've been following you since you arrived in Constantinople," she replied. "Once you headed northwest, I left the trail, knowing you were already too far gone."

"What do you mean?"

"You claim that you seek to destroy Soul Edge," the assassin began. "Yet you serve the one who wields it. Your family, your name, your devotion to your dark master, it's all a charade, predesignated by your true father."

"Lies, all of it!" I shouted, and tugged hard against her, trying to free my blade. But to no avail: she was very strong, and kept me from pulling free easily.

"I can see the contrary in your eyes," the woman returned. "You know the truth, don't you? You've been looking the other way on purpose, believing a comfortable lie because the truth is far more than you can bear. It would destroy your world and everything you believe in!"

"Answer me, b*tch!" I shouted, losing my patience with this oriental and her cryptic words. "What do you know about me?"

"Your father was an evil man," the assassin continued. "He found the Sword of Souls and took it for his own. While in his possession, he raped a tavern girl: your mother. You are the bastard child of the Evil Sword. Now it has called you back to its service."

"You liar!" quoth I, pulling with all my might against the woman.

"I can prove it!" she replied. "I've seen the Evil Sword, four years ago. A long blade, silvery-gray save for a fleshy growth upon the blade, and a single yellow-red eye gazing out from the center of the blade! That is the blade the Azure Knight carries, that is your eternal birthright!"

I looked back at my lord, but there was no sign of his presence. Even the other eastern children were gone. It was just me and this woman, locked in a fight to the death.

"I'm your enemy!" I retorted. "Why would you tell this to me now?"

"You should know the truth," the assassin said. "That is why you found your way to this place: the Sword called out to you, through the evil blood within your veins. That is why I cannot ignore your evil deeds!"

With a sudden cry in her ancient tongue, I was swept up into a sea of light and remembered no more.

* * *

**(AN: Oh no, what has happened?!)**

**(This whole fight scene was based on the one from the intro to _SCII_, but set in the Ostrheinsburg courtyard rather than the Egyptian labyrinth. Though she is not named, I think you can guess who this assassin is: yep, Taki. Also, please don't say I'm racist. This story is set in the 16th century, when people didn't care as much about political correctness as they do now. To Ivy, who's never been to the East, she probably wouldn't be able to see much difference between the eastern children [Kilik and Xianghua] and Taki.)  
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**(But what's going to happen with this new information? How will she come to realization with this new knowledge? Thankfully, I'll be able to post something [hopefully soon] and you won't have to wait too long. PLEASE review!)  
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	18. Broken, Lost and Defiled

**(AN:)  
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* * *

**Broken, Lost and Defiled**

I don't know when I finally arose from the sleep that had fallen over my eyes, but when I awoke, it was to worse than any dream could have been. I was not in Ostrheinsburg, but in a field. The thoughts were coming back into my mind, despite my best efforts to drown them out. I had to get away, go somewhere, leave the German States all-together. But I had no money on me and all my things were back in Ostrheinsburg.

And so for the next month, I walked across the German States, into God-forsaken France and at last to Calais, where I was able to persuade a ship's captain to return me to London. I spent the whole voyage beneath deck, curled into a ball, hiding myself from everyone and everything. In truth, though I did not want to believe what I had seen, to do so any longer would be sheer and utter folly. But the truth and the weight of that truth were more than I could ever possibly bear. Even I, who thought myself stronger than most men or women, was forced to concede my complete and utter hopelessness and helplessness in this matter.

Throughout the voyage, locked away by myself, I had plenty of time to think about the words said. Were the words of the assassin woman true? Had I, who thought herself fighting the good fight to destroy Soul Edge, actually been an unwitting pawn, using my time and talents to _aid_ the Evil Sword? I tried to use reason and logic to defend myself, to excuse that the woman's words were not true. However, her description of the Sword rang still in my ears. _A long blade, silvery-gray save for a fleshy growth upon the blade, and a single yellow-red eye gazing out from the center of the blade..._It was with horror that I realized that this described the Sword my lord, the Azure Knight, bore with him at all times.

When I reached London, I walked the rest of the way out of the city and back to the Valentine mansion. It was my home, the place I had lived in for eights years and a score of my life, where my Father and mother had both died. But what was it now? I pushed my way through the doors and threw myself into my room. Once inside, I exploded into a fit of rage. I destroyed everything in my path - the bed, the curtains, the bookshelves, the canopy about my bed, the Valentine family crest upon my wall: it was all false and untrue now and only reminded me of what I had done.

I was angry and heart-broken, vengeful and sad. I wanted to hurt everything in my path and to hide myself away. These people had lied to me, the ones as whose daughter I had been raised. My Father knew, but he took it to his grave: my mother, the one I thought hated me, was the only one brave enough to tell me the truth. But who were they, these people who had raised me to call them Father and mother? My mother wasn't really my mother: no matter how much my Father had told me that I took after him, I saw nothing of myself in her. She was small, thin, flat-faced and thin-lipped. My Father...

Who was my true father? Not the man I loved and called my Father, and therein came my grief. _He_ was the one I loved, and called my Father: yet he was no closer to me in truth than Astaroth. My father...from the description made by the assassin, he almost sounded like I did not want to believe what he sounded like. Yet even as I began to entertain those thoughts, the old man's face came leering out of the darkness, laughing, smiling, mocking me with his smugness and power. He was so far away, might even be dead, yet he could still find me from wherever I might hide. I didn't want to believe that this horrible man, who had raped a woman...

That woman I had seen in my nightmares, the Spaniard one. I was surprised at how blind I had chosen to be, that I had not seen it before: tall, slim, oval-shaped face, slender nose and full lips. Even her hips and breasts were mine. _That_ woman looked like me. I felt something when I heard her voice in my dreams: I triumphed in her small victories and felt my heart break as I _felt_ her agony as though it were mine. This woman, I dreaded, was my mother, my true mother.

It was then that I began to piece things together. I was born of cursed blood. I remember seeing him, the old man - my true father - reach into a crate and pull out a sword whose blade I could not see. Was it Soul Edge, the very one my lord and master, the Azure Knight - even to think of him again filled my soul with revulsion - wielded? Then I saw the deed, and in my heart I knew that the product had been me. Whatever had happened between that day and the long years between then and when my first memory were anyone's guess. Perhaps my mother had, by and by, come to England and, knowing that she could not live with the shame of a bastard child, placed me on the steps of this mansion.

But that was the past, and it meant nothing as the Valentines were the only family I had known. I told myself this before, when my step-mother tried to tell me the truth. But now I knew better. That might have been the past, but when I lay with the Azure Knight, _that_ was the now. _I_ had done that. My soul was filled with rottenness and I vomited upon the floor. How could I have done this? I had willingly exposed myself to the evil of Soul Edge, doubtless which was within the Azure Knight's body. Even if I wanted to deny my past, there was no denying the present. I was tainted by the very evil I had sought to destroy.

Even then, my woes were not filled. My sword! In a rage, I drew it out of its sheath and looked at it anew. It appeared to me as a thing of evil and corruption, and unholy thing, given to me by the Azure Knight to lure me to his side. I had listened to it, let it guide me, I emptied my mind into it. I felt horribly ugly and disgusting: not only was I fathered by the bearer of the Sword, a child of the Cursed Sword as it were, but I had also willingly corrupted myself with the current bearer, opening myself once again to its corruption and, furthermore, given myself to this sword.

In a rage, I threw the sword against the wall. Like the locket that had the portrait of my adopted family, this also was a reminder. It reminded me of all the evil I had done, of the evil I had let into my being. I hated it as much as I hated myself and tried to destroy it. But every time I threw it against the wall, smashed something against it or cast a spell at it, I knew that it was futile. The same cursed blood that flowed through my own veins had created this sword: while it lived, so too did this sword.

With nothing else to do, I ran into the hidden laboratory, fell down upon the floor and wept myself hoarse. Everything seemed hopeless. I was broken, lost and defiled. Furthermore, I had no one to blame but myself. But I didn't blame myself: I was glad that I knew. Rather I had learned the truth with my lord that night than walked on in ignorance and done even greater harm. But as I analyzed these thoughts, I feared that these were exactly one of the cursed blood would say. They would not be sorry for what they had done, but revel in it, find excuses for it, or, worse yet, care not for it. I felt now that even enlightened as I was, there was no escape.

Nearby, my sword waited silently for its master's orders.

* * *

**(AN: This is one of Ivy's darkest hours, so obviously it's going to be rather extreme. See, this is why I had the love scene. Since Ivy is a child of the Evil Sword, she has the cursed blood within her veins. Therefore, when she was in close proximity to the Sword, it started calling out to her, connecting to her in the nearest way possible: through her father. Also, if she knew what kind of evil Soul Edge was and was being told this by someone she considered an enemy [Taki], why would she just believe her? Yes, there was her adopted mother's letter, but she could chose to disbelieve that, even as she had in the first place. She needed to experience the memory of her father's evils firsthand, have a direct attachment to them, so that she would _know_ that what they were telling her was real.)**

**(Please review. Don't worry, the next chapter won't be so gloomy)  
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	19. Resolution

**(AN: Okay, so here's a thought: if _Soul Calibur_ were to be made into a movie, or if you have a vivid imagination that always views stories being acted out as though they were movies in your head, and you need to have a face-claim for Ivy, who would you choose? Just something I thought I'd ask, just to see what you'd think.)  
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**(Story time again!)  
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**Resolution**

For months, I spent locked away in my room, sustaining myself on sheer will and my own magical skills. Life had no longer any meaning for me, and I wrestled with myself endlessly. I believed that no one should be allowed to see me this weak, so I sealed my doors and shut up my windows. Tears unnumbered were shed by me, until it seemed that I had cried out every last drop and the springs of my head now ran dry. It all seemed useless now, for I seemed to be going nowhere with any of this. The only thing that I had agreed upon was that I would never again take a man to my bed. I would be as chaste as a nun from then till the day I died here in my adopted home, alone and forsaken.

However, I was neither as alone nor forsaken as I had originally believed. One dark evening, when all my life seemed pointless and my predicament more hopeless than ever, the sound of an ax-head grinding against wood woke me from my gloomy slumber. I was so lethargic that I did not even raise my head. Let it come to me, I thought. I didn't even lift my head to see who it might have been come to rescue me from my self-imposed exile of solitude.

"Milady?" a voice that I had not heard in months spoke to me. I did not even lift my face up to see who it was. It was not until I felt grimy hands pick me up off the floor and place a torn pillow beneath my head that I looked up and saw who it was who had come for me.

"Peter?" I replied.

"I don't care if you punish me for it," Peter began. "So I'm just gonna say it straight-like: it's mighty cruel of you, milady, doing what you've been doing for the past months or so. You have no idea how much it pains me to see you like this."

"I didn't ask for your sympathy, Peter," I replied grimly. "I certainly don't need your judgment on my decisions."

"Nevertheless, I'm here and I'm in the mood for talking," he said. "I care about you too much to keep silent any longer. You need to keep on living."

"Why?" I asked morosely. "What point is there with living a cursed life?"

When Peter asked what I meant, I told him all that had happened after the ritual, including what had happened in Ostrheinsburg. While my liaison with the Azure Knight was kept secret, nothing else was hidden. I even recounted the truth I had learned, though touching on how I knew it was truth, I kept silent thereon. Of course, it would mean that he could not fully understand how I knew that it was true, but I would never reveal to him the weakest moment in my voyage.

"I don't understand," he said.

"Of course you wouldn't," I sighed morosely.

"Well, yes," Peter replied. "I know I'm not as clever as you are, milady, but as much as I know, you are still the same person you were when you left us months ago. I don't see how this new knowledge changes you. You've always done things according to your own council, milady: you never let what others say or thought affect the decisions you made."

I tried to retort, to make this idiot see that it was not that simple, but I simply fell farther. Though I did not weep, I felt as though I was on the verge of weeping. But I would not, not before him: no man would ever see me so weak. With nothing further to say, Peter sighed and left my room. I was alone again, but his words stung my heart deeply. Did he really think of me in this way, so invincible and indifferent? It was not without merit, for I did carry myself thus before not only him but before everyone.

Slowly, it dawned upon me that his argument was sound. I pretended to be invincible and haughty, why could I not choose to truly be so as well? I would keep the truth inside, telling no one, but I would continue my quest, the one I had set out to begin so many years ago: destroy Soul Edge. But no, that couldn't be enough, that could never be enough. I would have to destroy it and every trace of its evil.

I looked at my sword, which remained at my side almost entirely. It had been created by the sword, yet I could not destroy it. I looked at it curiously, then touched it, though I never could understand why. But when my fingers touched it, I knew something. The sword spoke to me as it had before, and it told me everything. _He_ was not the master of the sword, though his power had created it. It read my thoughts, understood my wishes, and brought me to Ostrheinsburg, exactly where I should have been in the first place: to find and destroy Soul Edge. Now the sword was speaking to me again. I was the one who commanded it, not the other way around.

"You're all I have left," I said to the sword, as I cradled it in my arms. "Valentine I name you. Guide me once again to my destiny, my treasured sword. I will destroy the sword utterly and all who serve it."

The sword responded. I would set out once again, though I knew that my quest was damned from the very beginning. I would go forth nonetheless.

* * *

**(AN: She came to the decision to leave on her own. All Peter did was remind her of who she was. He has very little other importance in the story, so I guess you could say he is the stereotypical female character...just a male version. Apparently that's okay because women are supposed to dominate and rule over men, yeah? That's what this society says at least, yet they whine when Ivy does it.)**

**(Sorry for the rant, not in a good mood. I've got to do my research for the _Soul Calibur II_ portion, so it might take a while when I update. But when I do, I promise you that it shall be very good.)  
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	20. Zeta

**(AN: I've started the sub-plot about our mystery character, and now said character is starting to grow more significant, as you shall soon see.)  
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**(As promised, I'm going to Ivy's _SC__II_ stage, the Egyptian Crypt. While the story canon does state that the crypt depicts Soul Edge, I can't have Ivy learn too much. It's not her fault, it's history's fault. The hieroglyphs of Egypt were not clearly understood until Champollion and the Rosetta Stone in the 18th and 19th centuries, which, of course, is NOT the setting for this story and therefore, the hieroglyphs can't be fully dissected. Oh, speaking of interesting knowledge, did you know that Egypt actually is Greek? While Ivy would refer to Egypt as Egypt, the ancient Egyptians referred to their country as "Kemet", and they had all different names for their gods and goddesses and locations.)  
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**(I was being sarcastic! Seriously, re-read my other fics, I always try to write men and women as equal as historically and culturally possible! That last author's note was written in sarcastic tone while rather upset. Don't take it as gospel truth! Lol!)  
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* * *

**Zeta**

I began my work with renewed vigor. I searched my room and laboratory, searching every book, even those I had destroyed, for any kind of clue. There had to be something in here, there just _had_ to be. While there was nothing apparent, I slowly discovered that there were some details in many of the books that were similar. Each of them were signed by the same single letter as those my father had used years ago.

_Z._

This had to mean something. It was appearing in every book about Soul Edge, every account. The letter Z. It was a rather interesting letter, one that was not frequent in many languages. There had to be more than mere coincidence: this person, Z, had kept a very detailed account of practically everything there was to know - so I thought - about Soul Edge, the Sword of Souls.

Then I discovered a strange thing. One of the books, an ancient account of all the known appearances of the Sword, spoke of a swarthy-skinned man in the time of the Pharaohs of Egypt. He had defied the gods of Egypt and the Pharaoh sent all of his armies out to destroy him. They failed, but the dark man was locked away in a vault in Upper Egypt. While ultimately, the machinations of the Pharaohs and their gods had come to naught, I felt that if I could go there and learn what I could, I might be able to succeed where they had failed. Furthermore, here was archived evidence of Soul Edge. It would be as good a starting place as any. If the Azure Knight had survived his encounter, that would be the last place I would want to go. That would be my end-goal, after I had eradicated every last trace of the cursed sword.

* * *

As it turned out, the Turks had almost full control of Egypt, meaning that I could not sail there directly from London. I would, as before, make landfall first at Naples, then on to Istanbul - for so it was called, I learned during my first stay - where I would hire a guide to take me through the Holy Land and into Egypt. The last part of the journey would be long and arduous, and there would be many dangers, especially for a woman far away from Christian lands. But I was not afraid, I had nothing to fear. For me, it felt that I had faced all my fears already.

So I took up Valentine, and once more left the mansion of my adopted parents. As I set out this time for the great unknown, I felt as that this would be what I would be doing for a long while: constantly on the road, searching for the last traces of Soul Edge. I was to be the eternal wayfarer, constantly seeking that which must be destroyed. It mattered not to me, for I was doing something worthwhile. In fact, if I believed that redemption were still within my grasp, I would have believed that I was working towards my own salvation in these actions.

The voyage at sea was uneventful. I stayed below deck most of the time, working on a new harness to go beneath my usual clothes. The breastplate became cumbersome and extremely hot beneath my clothes, so I got rid of it entirely. Instead, I made a kind of halter out of leather and lined it with silk and used this to hold my breasts in place. Two thongs of leather were attacked to my neck girdle, which kept them supported, as well as small bronze wedges which sat underneath by bosom. While I had a lot less protection than before, this would be easier for me to go about in public, as I could throw a dress over this easier than over my breastplate.

I also devoted my time to studying the books of Z. From what I gathered from them, I deemed that he had been some great one, learned in the dark arts as I and my father had been. Yet Z's knowledge seemed even greater, for he had an intimate knowledge of many forms of the dark arts which had been lost to history for centuries. The things he must know, beyond comprehension! I also discerned, from the tone of some of his writings - those at least which existed in Greek and Latin - that he was very grim. But what struck me as odd was that it was unequally so: while his works showed a great personal lassitude, he was not misanthropic, nor did he hate people of other races. While he was very scathing of the gods of whatever people he was among, he seemed to believe that it was his own personal manifest destiny to enlighten all people among whom he was placed, for as long as he was allowed.

The most baffling thing about his works, which had baffled my Father and I when we first discovered his works, were the times. One work we had found, copied by monks in Constantinople, was as old as the fabled city of Troy. Another was a fragmented work by Flavius Josephus, which mentioned his discussion with Z about the Temple of Solomon. Many hundreds of years, there seemed, between his works. My Father and I often discussed what they could possibly mean. He was determined that Z had found the Philosopher's Stone and with it, had gained life eternal. As for me, I was beginning to doubt this belief. While he spoke of Soul Edge, I knew that this would not be true life eternal, but a curse. If anything, these were the carefully copied works of many men, all bearing the same name for both anonymity and to create this mythic figure of Z as an eternal guide and protector of man and progress.

* * *

A storm at sea drove our ship off course and we landed on the northern coasts of Africa. All of those books which I had brought with me were now lost, sunken to the bottom of the Mediterranean. But I was still alive and I had committed the most important of them, that which spoke of the vault in Upper Egypt, to memory. I would find it, one way or another, even if I had lost everything I brought with me.

From the wreck, I was ready to head east until I reached Alexandria, then find a ferry to take me up the great River Nile to my destination. However, the captain of the ship told me that I could not travel in my western clothes. With cloth from the only sail that had survived the wreckage, given to me by the captain, I made myself a robe like those worn by the people of the East. I also made myself a modest veil: the captain told me that though the weather was hot and tempting to go with less clothes, it would be better to go heavily clad. The heat and the brightness of the desert sun would burn my white skin, he told me. It was not until much later that I learned the truth of his words and what a great gift it was that he tore one of his sails for my convenience.

My journey began on foot, plodding endlessly through the desert. This went on for at least a week, with no sign or sight of anything. I was beginning to lose hope of reaching my destination. The sheer vastness of the desert was enough to daunt anyone, even a hardened soul such as me. Every sand-dune was a great challenge to climb, for my feet sank into the sands with each step and made my labors a great chore. But then the hardest blow came when I finally conquered the dune, only to see that there were a hundred more laid out before me.

The dunes finally ended, but the plain, trackless rocky desert was not much better. My feet were burning within my boots, coarse and irritated by sand which had somehow gotten into my boots. I felt covered all over in sand, dry and weary. Every rock was painful to set my foot upon, and there were many. In this land I felt I would not last long, for it was harder even than the dunes.

Thankfully, as luck would have it, I came across a caravan going south-eastward. While I knew almost no words in Turkish or whatever language they spoke in Egypt, one of the Bedouins spoke Italian, which I had a measured fluency in and could articulate my course to him. He offered me a camel and I agreed to join him as far as that place which he called _Wadi al-Muluk_, the Valley of the Kings. This was a greater stroke of good fortune than I had expected. The Valley of the Kings was the area where the writings had said that Z had been locked away. Once more I hoped that this journey, at least, would have a good end.

* * *

**(AN: I wanted to dump all of this Egyptian adventure out in one chapter, but I felt I could close it up here. Yes, there's no dialogue. All of that will come in the next chapter, if anything. After all, we don't need a lot of dialogue when Ivy is narrating her own life's story.)**

**(I'm still here and I'm grateful for all the reviews. Keep 'em coming!)  
**


	21. Maze of the Blade

**(AN: I have so many documents in my Doc Manager, it's ridiculous! And most of them are for stories I've lost interest in or have got writer's block for, they're just waiting there for me to become interested in them again. As it is, I can't post more chapters because I've been floating at thirteen and can't post more than fifteen [unless an update has changed that and I don't know about it])**

**(Lol, as I write, I find that I, who once considered myself a historical Renaissance man [in that I knew almost everything about western history, including something of the Middle East], know less about Kemet [Egypt] than I had originally thought. Truly am humbled by it, just as Ivy is in this chapter, as you shall soon see.)**

* * *

**Maze of the Blade**

After long days of traveling through inhospitable deserts, I finally caught my first glimpse of the _Wadi al-Muluk_. Atop great cliffs of sand that shot upwards out of the desert floor so straight that they reminded me of the white cliffs of Dover, I saw the whole valley stretched out before me, dozens of golden-white hills of rock and sand. I could tell from my veil that I had stopped breathing: what a majestic sight!

As fortune would have it, there was a hill nearby the cliffs which offered my camel a path down into the valley. I shifted my camel's direction thither, and we passed down the hillside into the valley. I came alone, for the Bedouins would not go this way. The one who spoke Italian told me that this land was cursed, especially the tombs of the ancient Pharaohs. I asked him about translators, but he said that none could speak the lost language of Egypt, nor were there any this far south who had that knowledge. Not for any amount of money or by subtle threats could I have persuaded him, and he left, committing me and my quest to the keeping of _Allah_.

The 'Book of Z', as I frequently had called it during the sea voyage, mentioned that the vault was on the banks of the Nile River. While, from a glance, this seemed as folly - the land was so barren that the fertile ground about the river's edge would be saved for crops, rather than used for building sites - the book stated something about keeping the vault flooded in case Z had somehow broken his bonds. I would have to make my way to the River to find what I sought, and even then, who knew precisely how many tombs were in this land? The Arabs knew not and Z was silent on the subject as well.

With so much going against me, it seemed quite the stroke of fortune that I found the place at all. As I rode my camel among these ancient ruins, little more than holes in the ground, I racked my mind over and over, trying desperately to remember as much as I could from Z's book. There had to be something, something that would give me a clue to where the vault might be located. _Seven times nine cubits inward, then left into a long corridor of darkness..._no, that wasn't it. _Cross the vault of Shu, wary the brink of the gulf_, but that couldn't be it, could it? _Tefnut lurks beyond the darkest chamber_, maybe...

Then, like lightning, I remembered what it was: _Imprisoned was I in the vault where Aten can be seen both at his return and his entry to the Underworld._ It made absolutely no sense. One of Z's books, left at home, had inscribed ancient Greek translations of the people of Egypt and spoke of the gods: Aten, apparently, was the name for Apollos. But none of these tombs had those exact qualities. They were one-way, I guessed, since they were meant to house the dead, not serve as passage-ways for the living. They might be able to see the rising of the sun from the east, but none of them could have seen the setting of the sun as well.

As I was about to turn my camel out of the way, having seemingly come upon an impossibility, I saw the reddish-gold arch of an opened tomb. It's edges had been eroded by sand and wind, and the colors of gold, crimson and _lapis lazuli_ which Z said adorned their entrances, had long since been stolen or rotted away. Nevertheless, there was something upon the door that struck me as interesting. Upon the arch, carved so indelibly into the rock that not even time could erase it, was a curious sign, one that had appeared in Z's book in the passages regarding the tomb.

_An eye with four points, and two suns on either side._

* * *

I had no wood, save for a branch I had found at the river's bank. Using a fire-spell long practiced, I made myself a torch and descended into the yawning maw of the tomb. This was my only hope, though it seemed rather bleak and ridiculous. The mark on the door did not mean that this was the tomb of the two suns, the place of Z's incarceration, but I had no other choice. It was either this, or make my way in defeat down the Nile and find a ship back to England. As I prepared to enter the tomb, I took one look back at the sun, raising my hand to cover my eyes from its direct glare. It was making its way down into the horizon for the sunset, and its golden rays were shining the path into the tomb for a good many cubits.

_Seven times nine cubits inward, then left into a long corridor of darkness..._

Without a moment's hesitation, I plunged into the darkness of the cave, dressed as I was, in the garb of the desert. For the most part, the tunnel was bare and earthen. Evidence of stone-masonry was upon the walls, the deep cuts they made. For a moment, some of the cuts appeared to be in symbols. But these were too eroded to make out anything. So I continued inward, my light barely illuminating the floor before my feet by a step or two. If there were something out there in the darkness, waiting for me, I would not know until it struck.

Trying to measure out the cubits by strides was difficult, but thankfully, the passage soon came to an end and I was faced with three tunnels: one branched forward, sloping gently downward, another climbed to the right and the one on the left maintained a steady passage into unfathomable depths. The fire of my torch was magical, so no gust of wind would quench it, and it would light until I commanded it to do otherwise.

The farther and farther I went, the hotter and more stifling it became. I shed my desert raiment, placing it in a neat pile on the floor of the passageway. As no one else was present, I would not have to fear for theft, nor of anyone viewing my body in my leather harness. I pressed onward, halting for a moment as I heard a hiss, like an intake of air behind me. I turned about, but my torch met only darkness. Though I was certain that I had heard something or someone hiss behind me. Snakes were common in this land, and so were bandits and tomb-raiders. I pressed on carefully, knowing that my path was possibly being dogged.

Suddenly, I heard the hiss again, only it was louder and much closer at hand. Then, to my fear, I felt the ground beneath my feet give way. For a moment, I feared that my journey had come to an untimely end. But then I hit something that felt like shifting sand. I was still alive, but as I pushed myself up, I found that my feet were stuck, as if in thick mud. With great effort, I plucked my feet out one by one and made huge steps forward, in the same direction I had begun. I had fallen into a pit, this much I knew, but I knew not if there were a way back out. Heaving my torch upward at an angle, I saw that there was indeed a way back up, but it led over a sheer, featureless wall of stone. I drew out Valentine and aimed it where the torch had been thrown.

"Seek!" I shouted, my voice roaring as it echoed off every surface.

The clattering of the blades of my sword came next, then I was pulled forward and upward. I gave out a cry of pain as I struck a stone wall front first, leading with my breasts. But my sword knew what it was doing, and it was dragging me out of the pit. At last, my groping hand found the edge of the wall and I pulled myself up, over and back onto my feet. I sheathed Valentine, then picked up the torch again and continued on my way through the tunnels, wary of anymore pitfalls.

As I continued on, I soon found myself enclosed all about in darkness so thick that I could reach out and feel it. Verily the Ninth Plague had come to life in the darkness vault of the tomb. It was then that I remembered what Z had said, and held up my torch. It had a high ceiling, but no shafts leading anywhere. In fact, there was only one way further, that led onward, deeper into the heart of the valley. All about, however, the walls were covered with beautiful carvings and symbols, pictures and icons I had never seen before. It would take a lifetime to unlock just what these symbols meant! I had no pen and paper with me, else I would have copied them out and written them here. But I remember yet the most significant of them, and these are they.

While I could not read the mysterious symbols, I could see the pictures. Most of them depicted humans with skin the color of dates, while some were obviously gods, creatures with heads of various beasts and birds. However, there was also something that I had seen on the door that piqued my interest: the eye with the four points. The other figures had no such eyes: the eyes of the humans were usually almond-shaped with only two points. The eye with the four points had each point protruding from the center, where sat the eye, like rays of the sun. But it was not the sun, for the sun was depicted with hands, not points. Each point for the eye, however, was fashioned like the blade of a straight sword, another curiosity, for the swords of the pictures upon the walls were curved.

I stood there, gazing upon the images, breathing heavily from my exertion in the pitfall of quicksand, and suddenly I heard moaning behind me. I turned about and, to my horror, saw the dead rising up from niches in the walls. They were not bones, for the desert kept their deceased flesh blackened and dried but intact. One, two, three...at least twelve rose up and made a circle about me.

"Get away!" I shouted, drawing forth Valentine. In my mind, I commanded my sword, and it did thus. As a whip of many sharp blades my sword became, and I lashed the walking dead into pieces, ere they could assault me. It was hardly worth it, as I picked up my torch and set light to their remains. They were so dry that they burned quickly and crackled loudly. Any pursuant would know where I was, but I was wary as well. This Z was skilled in the magical arts, and I felt certain that it was _his_ cunning that had made this particular trap.

_Why,_ thought I, _would he try to keep others out of his prison? What lies hidden in the darkness?_

* * *

I was prepared for the next trap, and I had not long to go ere I found it. But a good three bowshots from where I faced the dead, the tunnel opened upon a wide room, freezing cold and roaring with the sound of great wind. I slowly stepped into the room and was almost knocked onto my ass with the fury of the wind. I cursed myself again for choosing to wear heeled boots with my harness. True, if I brought an enemy to his knees, I could use my heels to cause him sharp, profound pain wherever I stepped, but it made walking and running damnable hard. But I could not spend time to remove them, or I would likely be swept away in the wind. With slow, strong and forced steps, I pushed against the wind, striving to make for the wall of the room farthest from where the tunnel had ended. In the dim light of my torch, which flickered and sputtered in the wind, I could see that there was indeed another tunnel at the end of this room.

The strong winds pushed me the rest of the way, and I slid down the coarse, sand-ridden floor, burning my thighs. When at last I got up, ruing the fact that I had thrown away my desert clothing, I lit my magical fire again and continued onward. The halls were dark, darker than anything I had ever known: but I went onward, refusing to give up now. After many long hours, I saw light up ahead of me. With Valentine drawn, I went towards the light, wondering what it could be. Could it indeed be true that here the sun could be seen at all hours of the day?

At last, I found myself in the middle of a wide chamber, whose roof had narrow shafts leading up into the night sky. All around, however, were great fissures from which flashes of fire burst forth, as from the horns of Mount Sinai when the **LORD** descended upon it. The floor also was very hot and my feet were scorched in my boots. This was the final room, for I could see no way but back. The walls, illuminated by fire, showed many wonders upon them. Most of them, however, were in the language of Egypt which I did not know. But I could read the images aright, and I saw many things which I did not understand, and yet felt were very important. There was a bald, swarthy-skinned figure clad in white, who a sword in his hand. Above his head, in all of the carvings, the eye with four points was depicted as well. He seemed to be one who defied the animal-headed creatures: the gods of ancient Egypt? I saw that he then defied one with a tall crown, and was then buried beneath the earth. I wondered who this person could be: was it Z, or at least one of the people in ancient times who had called themselves Z?

Suddenly, during a point where the fissures were at rest, I heard the sound of footsteps behind me. I would not be hoodwinked this time. I spun about, drawing my sword and commanding it to become a whip, with which I lashed at the darkness. For a while there was no sound, then suddenly an answer came in the form of a thrown dagger. Without my command, my sword moved in its path, deflecting the dagger from harming me.

"Show yourself!" I shouted into the dark.

At once, there appeared from out of the darkness a figure clad in the garb of the desert. Loose-fitting pants and light shoes were on his feet, and his upper half was wrapped in black. He wore a scarf over his face, hiding all but his eyes, which were gazing at me with ill intent.

"Zayin wants you dead," the assassin replied in broken English.

"Who is Zayin?" I replied. "Answer me!"

But the assassin did not reply with words. He ran at me, drawing out his sword and swung at me. It was with surprise that I saw my sword moving of its own to defend me against the assassin's blade. It moved as fast as he did, all I had to do was hold on for dear life and watch as it moved of its own accord. The assassin also was caught back by my apparently flawless defense. For someone not even clad in armor or wearing proper gear for a fight, I was holding my own against him.

But I had reason to fear, even though it seemed that I would be the victor of this fight. My greatest fear was how my sword had begun acting of its own will. Knowing its origin, I feared that, if it indeed started acting of its own will, I could no longer control it and it would lead me back to _him_ as it had done years ago. Another fear was that I was losing ground, getting pushed farther and farther away from the exit. The heat on my back was growing with every step I took backwards, and I feared that I was heading for something awful.

The assassin jumped at me, and I rolled aside. Well, I had intended to roll aside. His momentum and my damnable heeled boots sent me tumbling rather than rolling. But it was enough, for my foe fell too far over one of the fissures and was caught on fire. But if I thought this would deter him, I was mistaken. He fell to the floor and began rolling about, and the fire was subsided. But I had not been idle. While he was thus distracted, I ran back towards the door as fast as my feet would carry me. There would be no second chances, which meant that I had to move now or else spend the rest of my life trapped in this tomb, as Z had been.

* * *

**(AN: Yay!)**

**(As with all of my epics, there's bound to be a point where I'm listening to music during the writing process. Well, I've already got "Maze of the Blade" from the _Soul Calibur_ soundtrack, but also "Curse of the Pharaohs" and _Om_'s album "Advaitic Songs" as well. Starts out very Middle Eastern, which worked for the moments when Ivy is approaching the tombs. Obviously, the Maze of the Blade doesn't really exist in the Valley of the Kings, so I had to fudge a few facts here and there. Hope all is well, though.)**

**(In case you were wondering, that is indeed Assassin from _SCII_. In my "canon", Hwang is in _SCII_ and _SCIII_ and has no need to travel in disguise. However, this assassin is important, especially if you were paying attention to what Ivy saw on the walls of the last room.) **


	22. The Enigma

**(AN: Well, it seems that this story has lost all of its followers. Sorry, I've been devoting a lot of time to a] school, b] girlfriend, c] band and d] my _Skyrim_ fic, so obviously this has been given a lower priority. But I'm coming back, so don't worry. Unfortunately, I'm also tightening up the story until we get to _SCV_, as it will also inadvertently tell another story in the process, one which I just can't seem to get out on my own.)**

* * *

**The Enigma**

I pitied the Children of Israel, the Disciples of Jesus, and any poor bastards who were forced or chose to cross the deserts on foot. From the _Wadi al-Muluk_ to Morocco was a journey of over two thousand miles. It would have taken years to cross on foot, yet I found a ship off the coast of Libya which was on its way to Italy. I was able to barter passage, though I had nothing with which to barter with, save for that which I had already given and would _not_, for anything, choose to offer it up again to anyone.

With enough persuasion, I was able to convince them that I was worth the trouble, or at least worth the possible misfortune. I had discovered on my first voyage that sailors were reluctant having a woman aboard their ships, as we were considered bad luck to them. Nevertheless, I got what I wanted and made good time on my way back to the continent.

I thought I would never see the shores of European continent, and yet, as my luck would have it, our ship arrived with no misadventures. At a port in Italy I disembarked, deciding to make my way north into the Imperial states, then board a ship for England from the Netherlands. Once I was back in civilized land, however, it was easier to be ferried places by those with some inkling of compassion. If they even once guessed who I was, I would have been thrown out like a whore from a chapel.

Weeks had passed before I finally returned to Albion and returned to my family manor. I did not, however, return immediately to my house. There was something I had to find out first. Upon arriving in Italy on the passage back to England, my Sword began acting stranger than it had done before. For a while it had fallen silent and seemed no more connected to me than any other sword of steel or iron. I felt weak, exposed and naked - which was rather appropriate, considering my harness was nothing more than a few leather straps that showed far too much skin than was appropriate by society's standards. But this had always been my tool against my male opponents: now it was nothing but a liability now that I had a sword that refused to respond to my commands. I had to change that.

In my years before leaving for Ostrheinsburg, I had made many connections among those who practiced the dark arts in England. Though the people of the Church of England, and most of Europe as well, thought they had eradicated witches and sorcerers with their inquisitions, not all of them had been eradicated. They had merely gone into the shadows, and for one who had lived in the shadows more or less, I knew where they could be found. I made a few purchases on my accrued credit and came back to my mansion, filled with books of all the dark arts. I would learn why my sword had failed to respond and learn how to bring life back into it.

* * *

So it was that the next month after my return was spent in my study, delving the secrets of the books I had purchased. I was surprised at how much information I found in one of the books I had acquired: one whose author had been none other than Z himself. Not only had it a great deal about magical arts, it also had something that sent my heart racing. _But, perhaps, the darkest of the dark arts of magic, that which has drawn so many to their doom and yet is constantly sought throughout the ages, is that which is called the Sword of Souls, or merely Soul Edge._

I was surprised that it mentioned Soul Edge by name. But more surprised was I by the depth of information about the Sword that I had found. It spoke of the Sword and of its description, which I remembered all too vividly, and listed much of its history, of which I had no knowledge. But there was more, something else in the writing that drew me, something I had never seen or heard of before in all of my research.

_As the shadow clings to all even in the brightest day, or as sometimes even the coldest ice can burn like fire, so it is with the Sword. When the Hero King Algol was betrayed by his son Arcturus, who took the Sword, he vowed to return control over the Sword and assure his eternal rule. Therefore it was, with the shards of the Sword, he purified with the holiest of arts and made a blade that would contest with the power of Soul Edge. So was the Spirit Sword born into being, the Sword of Heroes, Soul Calibur. Whether its power was greater or equal to that of Soul Edge is not known..._

"My lady?" a voice spoke.

I was surprised as I heard the voice of Peter, my servant, greeting me from behind. His voice broke my concentration as I turned about to see the short, round-bellied man bowing and doffing his cap to me. It had been a long time since I had seen anyone I could truly trust and even his face was welcome.

"What brings you here?" I asked a bit too harshly.

"I've been taking care of your mansion since your departure," he replied. "It's been quite a trial, without your presence."

"Begone," I ordered. "I don't need you."

"Maybe you do?" he asked. I placed the book down and turned to Peter.

"How dare you," I said in frustration.

"Well, don't you?" he continued. "Pardon me for saying this, but I took care of your father's mansion all the many long months you've been away. It's been terrible, fighting off thieves, brigands, runagates, the lot of 'em. But I did for you, because a true servant never deserts his mistress, begging your pardon. Yes, I'm quite aware of your...skill, whatever in God's name possessed you to do such unwomanly things is beyond me. But I've kept me mouth shut and gone along with it for so long because, well, I've figured something out, you know?"

"And what is that?" I asked with thinly-veiled contempt.

"You need someone," he said. "If you were all on your own, you'd go 'round the bend. I can see it in your eyes..."

I struck him hard across the face and ordered him away, then I closed the door and locked it behind me as I returned to my reading. I was infuriated at his preposterous assumption that I needed anyone, to say nothing of a man. I was also offended that he thought of me as needing any of this wealth. It was my own only by inheritance from a family that was not my own. In fact, I was as distant from them as from my birth parents. As I began regaining my composure, I breathed off my rage and turned back to my book. Though it took quite a bit of time, I finally found my place and continued reading.

_The swords clashed, blue against red, shattering even unto the foundations of Heaven and Earth, until at last, on that fateful day, Prince Arcturus lay dead at the feet of the Hero King. Truly the Spirit Sword Soul Calibur had gained the victory and grown stronger. Nevertheless, a darkness had fallen upon it that moment. As the Hero King disappeared into his Tower of Remembrance, the tallest spire of his palace, the priests of his nameless kingdom were given the unhappy responsibility of looking after the Sword. For the Spirit Sword, having vanquished the power of the Sword of Souls, had taken into itself a measure of the evil of the Cursed Sword, even as the Cursed Sword had taken into it a measure of the evil in the blood of man when it tasted blood when wielded by Prince Arcturus._

_So it was that the Sword was placed into the keeping of these holy men and their descent for all time. Thus it had been for countless centuries before Hammurabi or the Pharaohs of Khemet, and thus it had been when I found the blade at last. I took it up as the means to the end, the end of my torturous, endless existence. Joy was in my heart: I would defy the gods and their mandate and gain the sweet release of death at last._

I was drawn into the struggle of this man, the author, as I read his account. For me as well, death seemed a sweet release after the atrocities I had committed in my time at Ostrheinsburg. But there was something else as well that drew me about this account. The tale of the Sword of Heroes, this Soul Calibur, seemed to be an answer to my deepest, heartfelt prayers. I tore through the book, eager to find more of what I sought. At last I found it!

_This knowledge remained with me even through all my travels. I at last decided to return home and find the place where my people had kept the Sword in ignorant disuse. I cleared my mind of all doubts and fears, knowing all too well why my people feared to use the Sword. As it was like the Cursed Sword, taking on the habits and prejudices of its bearer, so it would be with the Spirit Sword. A soul darkened by evil deeds would corrupt the Sword, making it a threat as dangerous as Soul Edge. I assured myself of my duty: it was not for wanton vengeance that I would take up Soul Calibur, for all those whom I had known and loved were long dead. It was not for destruction of either good or evil things, for I needed no such power to do that. Neither did I take up the Sword to bring enlightenment to the world and destroy the gods, for I would accomplish this damnable task by my own power, so that it would not be said that by the power of the Almighty Ones hath mankind wrought their destruction: it would be by my own hand and therefore my own glory. No, I would take up the Spirit Sword for one reason and one reason alone: to bring about my death._

My heart beat feverishly within my bosom. Was this the answer? Aye, this one had attempted to take up the Spirit Sword to end his own life, but I felt that he had failed. _I_ would not fail. I would find the Sword and, with my purest desire being only the eradication of all of Soul Edge's evil, bring about the complete and full destruction of the Cursed Sword.

* * *

As my mind went over the possibilities, I heard a voice cry out further down the hall. There was a high call, and then a gagging sound. I tip-toed to the door, pressing my ear against the wood, but there was no sound heard. Then suddenly I _knew_ something. It was a familiar old voice, faint and weak, yet still present after weeks of silence: Valentine, my sword, spoke to me. I looked over at the table where it lay, eying it suspiciously. Why did it leave and why had it returned? There was something in one of the other books I had purchased that might be able to help me, but now was not the time. I was in danger for my life, possibly, and had to fight. Taking up my sword, I ran out of the door.

In the hallway there lay the body of Peter, his neck broken. Behind him stood a tall figure, clad in white. In his hand was a scythe, as the Grim Reaper himself used to harvest the souls of the dead into Hell. Yet he was clad in white, like an angel.

"Who are you?" I demanded, pointing my sword at the newcomer.

"Did you read the book?" the voice asked. It was deep, masculine and measured.

Slowly the tall figure turned about and I saw his face. It was black like the Ethiopians, yet in his eye there shone a flicker of gold. Slowly he approached me, with determined steps. But his eyes continued to draw me: they were empty, as though emotion meant nothing to him anymore. It was as though nothing at all meant to him but his goal, and that goal as now me.

"You?" I breathed. "You're Z?"

"That was one of my names," he replied. "My full name is Zasalamel, the Enigma."

"Zayin," I said to myself, then to him. "You know of the Swords?"

"Too much," he replied. "As do you."

With a cry in some forgotten demon's tongue, so I thought when first I heard him speak, he swung his scythe at me. Tripping over my dress I fell backward in frustration. He loomed over me, a gloved hand reaching out at me. I swung my sword at his hand, but found that it moved no different than any other blade.

"Extend!" she shouted, almost instinctively, though it made no sense to do so.

But that was enough, it seemed. The sword shot forward, then collapsed like a dead snake or a chain on the ground, far from the reach of the dark-skinned Zasalamel, who had leaped backwards at the moment of her strike. I tore my dress off my body, the easier to move against this opponent then swung my sword up above my head as though it were a chain. I soon discovered that my sword was behaving strangely: it took much more concentration than normal to make it do as it had done before. This was hardly the time for my treasured sword to be misbehaving, as I was in a fight for my life.

"Dammit!" I cried to my sword. "Do as I say! Go there!"

I thrust outwards, towards the stranger, but found that my sword did not respond. The swarthy man swung at me with his scythe, but I held my armor-clad right arm in the way, barely blocking the blow but sending me tumbling to the ground from the strength of his blow. I struggled to push myself up, but then felt a strong boot on my back, pushing me into the floor. I could feel warm, moist blood dripping down my lips from where they had burst against the hard-wood floor. Before my eyes, I saw the white-clad man, Zasalamel, make his way into my study.

"No..." I exclaimed, struggling to go after him.

"This..." I heard him say, and then noticed to my horror that he was holding something in his large, gloved hands: it was the book I had been reading before he had slain Peter. "A mistake from my past."

"No!" I shouted, as I watched helplessly as the book fell from his hand then exploded in flames on the floor. The white-clad figure turned to me, and I saw once again the shimmer of gold in his right eye.

"If you wish to know about the Swords," he said. "Seek the knight you know so well." He then turned and walked away.

"Stop!" I shouted. "Come back here! I demand you to halt!"

I had so many questions fluttering in my head. The strange man had beaten me but not killed me: was he only after the book? And how did he know about the Azure Knight and that I _knew_ him so well? But his words spoke of the Sword, the Spirit Sword Soul Calibur. Where would I begin to search for it? There was still so much more in that book that I had not yet read, now gone beyond recall...or was it? I distinctly remembered seeing something in one of the pages I had been thumbing through before I began to read in earnest.

_Moved to the Temple of the Order of the Ling Sheng-Su._

* * *

**(AN: Sorry that took so long. Busy with _Skyrim_ fic "The Dragonborn and the Lioness" [read it, it's good], but I'm definitely going to try to update more of my stories besides just that one. So, obviously this gets an update. Hope you've been waiting patiently for the next chapter update and haven't all left me. I'll try to make the next update come sooner, though there might be some alteration about the next part of the story.)**


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